Hogwarts: the Slytherin Way
by Sugar Junky Freakazoid
Summary: The day Harry Potter was placed in Slytherin was a shocking day for the world, but it was only the start. Armed with nothing but his wand, Harry begins an adventure at Hogwarts that will change his life and personality forever in a way that none will real
1. Sorted a Different Way

**Disclaimer for all chapters: I do not own Harry Potter, or any related characters or places, unless I make them up.**

**Summary: The day Harry Potter was placed in Slytherin was a shocking day for the world, but it was only the start. Armed with nothing but his wand, Harry begins an adventure at Hogwarts that will change his life and personality forever in a way that none realise 'til its' too late.**

**Chapter 1 - Sorted a Different Way**

The most shocking thing to ever happen in the wizarding world, happened to one Harry James Potter, which wasn't really surprising, as the child had survived the killing curse. However, what was shocking was something as simple and something that every single student that has ever and will ever attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has to go through - the sorting, and their house placement.

For, you see, the youngest, and possibly last ever member of the Potter clan was a first for his bloodline ever to be placed in this certain house. The Potter's, after all, usually went into one of three houses, but young Harry ended up in... well, why don't you just see for yourself? It will be far more interesting that way.

Upon entry to the Great Hall, on September first, nineteen ninety one Harry was amongst the many first years that were gaping around. The hall was truly amazing. There was a total of five tables, the four longer ones, side by side in the hall, were for the students, whilst a fifth smaller one stood near the far wall, where the teachers all sat.

Floating above the tables were thousands of candles floating, nothing holding them up, as far as he could tell. He glanced upward, for no reason other than to satisfy his curiosity as to what the ceiling would look like. Somehow he had imagined gracefully sloping arches, or maybe a steeple or something, but what he saw truly amazed him. The supporting arches were visible for a certain amount, but after that... it was like there was no ceiling at all. Vaguely he heard someone a little distance behind him whisper that it was bewitched to look like the sky above, but he wasn't too bothered, it was so amazing it was hard to believe the sky did not simply open up into the heavens.

Harry looked down after a few more moments of ceiling-gazing as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged in front of the line of first years. On top of the stool she placed a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was so patched, frayed and dirty that Harry doubted that Aunt Petunia would even let it on the front lawn, let alone into the house.

Random thoughts as to how they would be sorted started to pop into his head, some of them really ridiculous. One such thought was that they might have to pull a rabbit out of it, but he quickly dismissed it, as not only would this not tell them which house they belonged to, but anyway, pulling a rabbit out of a hat was a simple muggle magic trick that he actually knew how to do; like the four king's card trick.

He suddenly noticed that everyone in the hall was staring intently at the hat, he stared at it too, fully expecting for something amazing to happen. And, sure enough to his eleven year old mind, something amazing did. The hat burst into song.

_'Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat that me._

_You can keep you bowlers black,_

_Your top hat's sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden inside your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindor apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a thinking cap.'_

The entire hall burst into applause at the end of the song, many of the first years looking relieved, if still slightly green, as the hat bowed to the five tables then became still again.

Harry heard some red-headed freckled idiot a little further down the line saying that he would kill 'Fred', who had, apparently, lead the first year to believe that they had to wrestle a troll. How could some people be so gullible as to believe that?

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put the hat on and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, and started to call out a long list of names. Almost every eye in the Great Hall was watching each person as they put on the hat, though none of the first years seemed too bothered about it until after they were sorted.

Gradually the majority of the students had been sorted, and Harry was one of four that remained. Then, finally as he leg began to ache, McGonagall called out the name he had been waiting for.

"Potter, Harry."

Whispers filled the hall as he strode forwards. They all shared the same message: was Harry Potter really back in the wizarding world? Which was a stupid question, if they thought about it. He had survived the killing curse at about thirteen months old, so it would make sense that just under ten years later (and aged eleven) he would be back in the wizarding world, did it not?

When Harry placed the hat on his head it slipped down over his eyes as it had done with all of the other first years and he was faced with simple blackness.

"Hmm," said what Harry assumed to be the hat. It was a magical object, after all, so why shouldn't it talk? "Difficult, very difficult. Why, I don't believe I have had to sort one so tricky as you in fifty-five years. Now where shall I put you? Gryffindor does not seem too great an option for you - you want to break away from being considered a clone of your late parents. Very understandable. Hufflepuff would not work, either. You have far too many convictions against the world for them."

Harry snorted quietly to himself at that comment. It was certainly true.

"Now this is truly shocking. I do believe that you have been through the same types of things as that poor child I sorted over half a century ago. Ah yes, poor Mister Riddle. Since then he's done so much with his life, just as you wish to. You wish to show the world you are not simply a scar, but something much greater. Ambition is an admirable trait when used well. Remember that when you are in SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted the last word, and with that his house was announced. Slowly and shakily the young boy made his way over to the Slytherin table, all of whom were smirking in triumph for some near unknown reason.

And that was how it happened. That was how young Harry James became the first Potter in history to go to Slytherin. This shocked the hell out of the world at first, of course, but they soon recovered, and this is now the story of Harry's life after that event.

**A/N: There, that's the first chapter complete, and for those that don't know, this is going to be very different to JKR's first book. Oh yes, the sorting is just where it begins.**


	2. The Feast

**Chapter 2 - The Feast**

At the Slytherin table all of the first years were introducing themselves to one another during the feast, all ready making new acquaintances, as they would hardly call one another friends. But so far they all seemed to be ignoring him. Or at least they were until a blond boy who was sitting next to a ghost reached out to shake his hand.

"My name's Draco Malfoy. And you are..."

Harry took the boy's hand.

"Harry Potter."

The boy smirked.

"Of course."

And the first years' interests in Harry suddenly increased. By the end of the feast when Dumbledore stood up Harry had gotten to know all of their names (Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Edmund Gein, Gregory Goyle, Morag MacDougal, Draco Malfoy, Givene Moon, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini). The meal passed without incident too, apart from when Edmund (or Ed as he insisted on being called) told everyone his name. Then Draco Malfoy started to kick up a bit of trouble.

"Gein? That is _not_ a pureblood name. Are you muggleborn?" they pale boy said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, so?!" the other boy said defensively. Draco looked disgusted.

"I cannot believe the hat would put a mudblood in Slytherin!"

There were similar noises of outrage from the other first years, well, except Harry. He knew that Slytherin had very few muggleborns in the house itself. In fact, there had only been three others since the house was founded! But that wasn't what was bothering him, nor was it Draco's use of the word mudblood, a very rude term for a muggleborn. No, what was bothering was the boy's surname. He could have sworn he had heard, or at least read it somewhere before.

Growing up at the Dursleys, Harry hadn't had the best childhood, especially if they found him reading 'freak books' as they called them. There was nothing freaky about them though. They were simply books about criminals, mainly serial killers, all of which he had gotten out of the school library (though why they had books of serial killers at a primary school he did not know). One of his favourites has been called _'Born To Be Killers_', and now that he thought about it, he was certain that was where he had heard the name Gein. Maybe one of the victims of one of the murder victims was called Gein... No, that didn't sound right. Maybe Gein was one of the officers mentioned in the books as to having solved the case... No, again that didn't sound right, so that only left one answer.

"Uh, Ed? Has your family ever lived in America?" he asked nervously, fearing what the answer would be. He was sure the Gein he was thinking of lived in America before he died. Ed scowled.

"Yes, my dad moved from America to escape the preconceptions about my grandfather. Just because there was one serial killer in my family doesn't mean we all are!"

Harry's eyes widened at that. He was right. The kid was related to a known serial killer. Amazing. The other first years, however didn't seem too amazed.

"So how many people did your grandfather kill?" Theodore Nott said, none of them seemingly bothered about Ed's parentage any longer. Again Ed scowled, unwilling to answer, but he probably realised he wouldn't be getting any piece until he did.

"The police said fifteen," Ed said. "But no one's ever been too sure. Even Grampa wasn't when he was alive."

There was silence for a moment, and it may have been Harry's imagination, but he could have sworn that Malfoy didn't look impressed by the number. Then a little fact came to his mind about the Gein he had read about.

"Is it true that he took gifts of fresh venison to his neighbours' houses, even though he never shot a deer in his life?"

Ed nodded, but one of the slower first years, Vincent Crabbe, had to ask the one question.

"How could he give people venison if he never shot a dear?" the boy grunted, and here a slightly crazed smile came to Ed's face.

"Oh, it wasn't venison. He never gave anyone venison. He gave them fresh human meat. No one was any the wiser though. Until they caught him."

The four girls, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Morag MacDougal and Givene Moon all looked as if they were about to throw up, and several of the other boys had a slight tinge of green to their faces. Harry, however, just grinned. He was about to say something else when Dumbledore stood up, and the entire hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First year pupils should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A couple of people around the hall laughed, though not many. It appeared that a large majority of the school took death threats seriously.

"Now, off to bed you trot!"

_He_ certainly didn't like being treated like he belonged on a farm.

The first years followed a fifth year prefect, Marcus Flint, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and down a staircase into a the labyrinth of the dungeons. Harry's legs felt like lead. He was not only tired, but full of food. He was too sleepy to even notice the portraits that were running along; trying to get a look at him, or that twice Flint led them through passages that were hidden by sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They walked down more steps, b this time everyone of the first years yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry wondered just how much further they had to go when Flint stopped in front of a blank wall, and turned to them.

"_Avada_," Flint hissed at the wall for them all to hear, and the wall slide aside to reveal a low, underground room with rough walls and ceiling, from which were hanging round, greenish lamps from chains. A fire was crackling merrily under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

Flint directed the four girls through one door to their dormitories and the boys through another. At the end of the corridor they were in after passing six other doors with signs proclaiming which year they were for, they came across one which said 'First year boys'. Inside they found their beds at last: seven four-poster beds with silver sheets and green hangings. Too tired to talk much, apart from the occasional mutter of something that made absolutely no sense, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed, each closing their hangings.

Perhaps he had eaten too much because Harry had a rather strange dream when he fell asleep. He was wearing jumpy Professor Quirrel's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him that he didn't belong in Slytherin, and he was much better suited to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Harry told the turban he was perfectly fine where he was; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully - and there was Dudley, laughing his far head off at him as he struggled with it - then Dudley morphed into his even fatter uncle, who bore down on him, smirking. Uncle Vernon chuckled, raised a fist, then - he awoke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over again as soon as he convinced himself that Uncle Vernon wasn't there, and nor was Dudley, and when he awoke the next day the dream was right at the back of his mind.

**A/N: Well, there's chapter two, though not much happened, as you can tell. Oh well, I'm only putting this up now because of a review... speaking of which, I'm feel like responding to it.**

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: ::chuckles:: Harry as Tom's equal and partner? Perhaps that will happen. And a Harry/Draco pairing? You'll just have to wait and see, though the friendship is an almost sure thing, even if it will probably be a rough ride for them.**


	3. Let's All Hate Gryffindors Together!

**Chapter 3 - Let's all hate the Gryffindors!**

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Between the kid with the pale face and the kid with the shifty eyes."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dorm the next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was attempting to concentrate on finding his was to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide sweeping ones; narrow rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step half way up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where things were, as they tended to move around a lot, thoroughly confusing the first years. The portraits kept going to visit one another and the suits of armour could walk.

The Ghosts didn't help much either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor's resident ghost, would help out anyone, so long as they weren't Slytherin (so he was no help to Harry) and the Bloody Baron (Slytherin's ghost) would just help Slytherin's who hadn't annoyed him at some point, or whose parents' hadn't annoyed him, so, again, he didn't help Harry much. But Peeves was worth a locked door and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class, though the other houses would probably say it was worse (Peeves didn't annoy the Slytherins too much because he had a massive fear of the Baron, the reason behind it was not known). If you met him when you were late for class he would drop waste paper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bit of chalk and pieces of screwed up parchment or sneak up to you invisible, grab your nose and screech, 'GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, though only just, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, along with the two first years he was closest to (Draco and Ed) managed to get on his wrong side on their very first morning. Filch had found them trying to force their way through a door which unluckily turned out to be to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. Apparently a couple of Gryffindors had tried to do the same thing a little earlier, and were going to attend a detention that night. Filch wouldn't believe that the three of them were lost, was sure that they were trying to break into the forbidden corridor (and he didn't react too kindly when Ed pointed out that Dumbledore had said that it was only off bounds to those who didn't want to die a painful death) and was threatening all sorts of punishments when they were rescued by stuttering Professor Quirrel, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat, a tabby with bulgy eyes so much like her owner's. She patrolled the corridors alone, and alerted Filch to any rule breakers that she didn't like (fortunately the Slytherins knew that they could bribe her with several dead mice each day that were left just outside the common room each morning) almost instantly. The two of them knew the secret passages of the school better than anyone else in the school (except two Gryffindors, Fred and George Weasley, the elder brothers of the red-headed idiot who had thought that they had to wrestle a troll to be sorted) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated Filch, and many a student dreamt of giving Mrs Norris a good kick.

Once you got to the class, there was the lesson itself. As Harry soon found out, there was a lot more to magic that waving your wand and saying some Latin.

They had to study the night sky every Wednesday at midnight (which was the only legitimate excuse for being out of your common room after curfew) through their telescopes and learn the names of different starts and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a short, fat witch named Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for. It was easily the most boring subject for Harry.

Harry was probably one of the few students in the school who found Professor Binns', the sole ghost member of the faculty, History of Magic class interesting. For some strange reason he had always found learning about the past interesting, and even though Binns taught the subject in the most boring way possible, nothing could dull the subject too much for him.

Charms, Harry had to admit, was interesting, even if it was taught by a tiny little wizard who fell off his chair the first time he came to Harry's name on the register.

Another class Harry was interested was transfiguration, the art of changing something into something else. Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor, was extremely strict, though clever too. She gave them a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her first lesson.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone caught messing around in my class will leave immediately and not come back. You have been warned."

The work she set them too do was to turn a match into a needle. By the end of the lesson only Crabbe and Goyle had managed to make any difference to their matches, but that was because they were charred from where they had set them alight.

The class he hadn't really been looking forwards to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, as he expected it to be a bit of a joke, having a teacher who was scared of his own shadow teach something where they would come across things a whole lot scarier than them. And he was right to think that, because by the time they had finished the class everyone was making snide comments about his turban and stutter.

The first Friday at the school was an important day for the first year Slytherins. They would get to have their first class with the Gryffindors, and it just so happened to be double Potions with their own head of house, Professor Snape, who hated Gryffindors, and greatly favoured Slytherin.

The Potion's lesson itself took place in one of the dungeons. It was colder in the dungeons than anywhere else in the school, including the common room, even though that was in the dungeons, and was really creepy, especially with the pickled animals floating around in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class off by taking the register, and when he came to Harry's name, like all of the other professors, except Flitwick, he simply paused. Next came the idiot red-head's name, Ronald Weasley, and here Snape decided to make a remark.

"Weasley? Another one? Is there not enough of you in the school yet?"

Weasley flushed red, the Slythrins snickered behind their hands and Snape continued calling out names then looked back up at the class. His eyes were black, cold and empty, giving Harry the impression that the man had been through a lot in his life. Snape did, like McGonagall, start the lesson off with a speech, and ended it with an insult to them all. One Gryffindor, a bushy haired mudblood, seemed eager to prove that he was wrong. Then Snape started firing random questions at the class, the first of which was aimed at him.

"Potter!" he said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry's forehead creased. All of the Slytherin first years, knowing about Snape's random first lesson questions, had brushed up on their Potion's knowledge.

"The Draught of Living Death," he said, his voice holding far more confidence that he felt. Snape's lip curled at the answer.

"Excellent. Five points to Slytherin. Finnigan!" said Snape, moving onto another student, a Gryffindor. "Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know sir," Finnigan looked completely confused. Snape smirked.

"Let's try again. What is the difference, Finnigan, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know sir," said Finnigan, then motioned towards bushy-haired Granger the mudblood who was trying her hardest to get him to notice her. "I think Hermione does though, why don't you try her?"

The Gryffindors laughed. Snape, however, was not in the least amused.

"Sit down!" he snapped at Granger. "For your information, Finnigan, A bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat and will cure you of most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are part of the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you copying any of that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Finnigan."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors the entire lesson, which only provided for more entertainment for the Slytherins. It seemed that Gryffindor had been blessed with an incredibly clumsy boy by the name of Neville Longbottom. Snape swept about criticising everyone except Draco, and, even though he had the distinct feeling Snape didn't like him, Harry. About half an hour after starting to work on a potion to cure boils, Longbottom's cauldron spewed out acid green smoke and a loud hissing sound filled the dungeon. Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Finnigan's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class were standing on their stools, while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the Potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking it off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Finnigan. Then he rounded on Weasley and another boy who had been working next to Neville.

"You two! Weasley! Thomas! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought it'd look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Thomas looked as if he was going to argue over the unfairness of it as Snape turned away, but stopped when Weasley whispered something to him out of the corner of him mouth.

It was needless to say that potion's lesson kept the first year Slytherin's amused for most of the following week. Or, at least it did until they found out some news that could be taken as good or bad, depending on how each individual person took it.

**A/N: Another chapter done, what do you think? And yes, I do realise that nothing too different has happened as of yet, but they won't truly start until next chapter, and from there they really start to change. Just about to put this up.. Oh yeah!**

**Nyoko: Thanks for the review! Yes, Harry and Draco shall be friends, but only after a shaky start.**


	4. Dark Arts and Flying Lessons Don't Mix

**Chapter 4 - Dark Arts and Flying Lessons Don't Mix**

The first year Slytherins only had one lesson with a Gryffindors each week, and that was Potions, so they did not have to put up with them too much. However, when a notice appears pinned to the notice board in the Slytherin Common Room, all eleven of them groaned. Flying lessons would begin on Thursday - and Slytherin would be learning with the Gryffindors.

There were dark mutterings all around the common room the day that they discovered the notice, but, after the fact that they could - and should - use the Flying lessons as a way to get on each and every Gryffindors' nerve and get ahead in the house points was pointed out by an elder Slytherin, they all perked up an started planning and scheming at the opportunity.

Each of the Slytherin's had decided to take their own way of annoying the Gryffindors. Draco complained loudly to everyone that it was unfair that first years were not allowed on house Quidditch teams, as well as telling long winded, boastful stories in a very loud voice whenever Gryffindors were within hearing distance about his childhood which always seem to end up with him narrowly escaping muggle helicopters (though it had never actually happened, as the blond was always far too careful about getting caught). Ed, after realising that in Slytherin having a serial killer or mass murderer in the family could be a good thing if used to an advantage, started asking random people if it was possible to be decapitated by someone flying at high speed on a broom.

Theo (he hated being called by his full first name, for some odd reason) has taken to staring at Gryffindors for long enough they asked what was wrong with him. He then always replied that he was interested in seeing how easily he could cause them to fall off of a broom and die without making it look suspicious. Blaise, again, had a very different way to get on Gryffindors nerves. Every time a Gryffindor, or possible Hufflepuff would walk past he would look at them, and shake his head gravely, as if he knew something they didn't. And Harry decided that the easiest way for him was to simply state random facts about the deaths that had occurred on or with a broom in the last couple of centuries.

The girls didn't really get too involved with the scheming, except to give an idea or opinion, but even without their help they still managed to get the Gryffs thoroughly nervous before the first flying lesson. It was interesting to see all seven of them squirm.

On Wednesday evening, the day before they were due to learn to fly, the plotting in the common room had finally come to a stop, and Harry waited for Draco and Ed as the two tried valiantly to finish their History of Magic essay quickly so they could get onto something that was more... productive in the ways of a Slytherin: the Dark Arts, Harry having finished the work three days earlier, and had refused to help until they bribed him with something he wanted in return. After all, you couldn't give without receiving in Slytherin, unless you wanted to be taken for a mug.

Harry didn't really know why the two of them were having trouble with it. All it was to give a short explanation of the most recent of the Goblin Rebellion, and the causes that ran up to it. Not too difficult, especially since all of them and the reasons behind them were nearly identical.

"Are you two done yet?" Harry yawned for the fifteenth time that night. "I would like to do spend my time doing something that other than tutoring you in History."

The other two glared, Draco's having slightly more effect, though Ed's wasn't too bad for a beginner. Glaring lessons had been what Draco had offered the two of them at different points. Harry hadn't accepted, knowing that glaring was just mainly a matter of how much hate was behind it, and, knowing the Malfoy heir, there was most likely something much better that Draco would offer - after the first offer had been declined. And he had been right.

Draco next offered was the young boy's rarest chocolate frog cards - which had already fetched a pretty knut when he had sold them off to an older Slytherin. It really was shocking how easy he found it to discover what they Malfoy heir would offer by simply refusing one, though he never offered anything after the second. Obviously that for each thing he offered he only had one back-up. Harry shook his head. Even he knew that you should have at least three.

"Well not all of us are gifted at History, Potter," Draco growled. Harry smirked. The boy was pissed off. He only ever called people he liked by their last name, usually only if he was mad. "So shut your trap!"

Harry gave Draco a look of pure innocence (fake, of course), and went back to reading his book, which was basically the magical equivalent 'Born to be Killers' and it listed all of the magical serial killers, famous and not so much. He wasn't really too shocked to read that a couple he knew from what he had read before he had started Hogwarts, Jack the Ripper, Mary Bell, Elizabeth Bathory and Vladislav Basarab to name but a few.

After about ten minutes longer the two of them had finished, and attracted his attention back to what they had planned to do that night.

Learning the Dark Arts was an important part of most Slytherin's lives at Hogwarts. It was a tradition that had been in place ever since Salazar Slytherin himself had been at the school, though, back then, Slytherin had taught the students themselves in secret, and now the students had to teach themselves, working independently or occasionally in small groups. If they had worked in small groups it would have been quicker for them all, in all likeliness, but very few Slytherins actually trusted one another enough for them not to betray everything they had learnt.

"So how far had we got?" Ed asked, flipping through one of the books the Slytherin's had stored secretly in the common room.

"We are just about at the darker levitation charm, the one that causes pain to the person its cast upon, or destroys the thing its cast upon if it isn't human," Draco answered dully. "You two are taking forever with these spells. At this rate it will take at least three years before we move onto anything explicitly illegal."

"Well you don't seem to be advancing at a much faster pace," Harry snapped, feeling suddenly irritable.

"How dare you?!" Draco snarled, an argument flaring up. Inside Slytherin it was common place for alliances to crumble over the slightest thing, both parties involved usually reaching temporary points of mutual hatred towards one another before getting over it. "I will have you know I grew up around the Dark Arts! Unlike you! Who grew up with pathetic muggle excuses for human beings!"

"Well if you grew up around the Dark Arts then why aren't you further ahead than us yet?!" Harry snarled, ignoring the comment about the Dursleys. It was true, but he wasn't going to admit it at that moment. "That's it, I've had enough of you for one night."

Harry stormed off to the dormitories, practically daring anyone to pick a fight with him. What he didn't notice was that Draco was muttering something under his breath that no one could hear.

"There," Draco muttered bitterly a moment later. "That'll show you how advanced with the Dark Arts I am."

The next day at three-thirty in the afternoon all of the Slytherins arrived first at the Flying lessons, though it only took a few more minutes for all of the Gryffindors to arrive (with the absence of Longbottom, who was in the hospital wing because of some accident). It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet.

One the ground lay about twenty brooms in neat rows. Harry had heard many of the upper years complaining about them, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom with a look of distaste on his face. It was old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. The school could at least invest in some decent brooms. These ones were positive disgraces.

"Stick out your hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say, 'UP!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted as one.

Harry's broom jumped up into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, whilst Weasley's had flown up so quickly it had hit him hard on the nose. Perhaps brooms were like horses in that they could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a bossy tone that no one wanted to listen to and hid an underlying tone of fear at the thought of leaving the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without falling off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Several Gryffindorks appeared delighted when she told Draco that he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep you broom steady, rise a few feet and come straight back down to the ground by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle - three - two - one."

Madam Hooch gave a shrill blast on the whistle and seventeen brooms rose into the air a few feet, and sixteen of them came down in quick succession. The seventeenth, however, just kept rising.

"Come back Potter!" she shouted, but Harry was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle - twelve feet - twenty feet. Harry looked down, the blood all ready drained from his face as he watched the ground getting further and further away, gasped, slipped sideways off the broom and -

WHAM - a nasty thud and Harry heard his wrist snap. 'Broken...' he thought before blackness overcame his sight.

When Harry awoke groggily a couple of days later in a room of overwhelming light he found that he was alone, and his wrist was perfectly fine.

Vaguely he wondered how long he had been out of it when the doors burst open and two people hurried in.

"Harry! You're awake!" said Ed, sitting down on his bed. Draco just stayed standing, leaning against the door-frame uneasily. Ed glared pointedly at Draco. "Are you gonna apologise or what?"

Draco glowered at the muggleborn wizards, and turned to Harry.

"I apologise, but you did deserved it."

"Apology accep- What do you mean I deserved it?!" Harry exclaimed, processing what Draco had said. "What did I supposedly deserve?!"

"Um, well, you see," Draco began, looking decidedly awkward.

"What he's _trying_ to say is that he cursed you last night when you asked why Draco wasn't at a higher level in studying the dar- err, you know. You know how much Draco can want revenge sometimes, don't you?"

Harry eyes widened with shock for half a second, but anger clouded them. The lying, two faced, no good, son of a-

"How dare you," Harry hissed, standing up and glaring at the boy, who wilted under his gaze. "HOW DARE YOU?!"

"Mr Potter! Get back in that bed this instant!" came the screeching voice of Madam Promfrey, the school matron. "Mr Malfoy! Mr Gein! Out! Out! You're aggravating my patient! OUT!"

Draco left almost immediately, whilst Ed cast one quick concerned look over his shoulder at Harry who was too busy glaring at the blond's retreating back, before he left. Harry finally lay back down on the bed, still glaring out into the hall way in the direction his friends had gone in. He was sooo going to get revenge on the blond, no matter what.

**A/N: Draco's a nice kid, wouldn't you agree? Oh well, so what, it's because of him the changes truly begin (finally, I mean, it took four whole chapter!), and because of him that I get great story lines! Last thing before I put this up!**

**Samurai Demon-God Sekikage: Thanks for reviewing! It's no problem for me to write a Slytherin!Harry fanfic that really differs from the actual books as I couldn't imagine the storyline following the books much if Harry became a Slytherin truthfully. In my mind they always follow a very different path from what people actually have them take. So far I'm not too sure if this will be slash - but believe me, I will not be swayed by what reviewers have to say on the subject. You should bear in mine that if I do decide on slash that it won't happen until at least book 4, 5, or 6. Yes, I am thinking of doing the later books as well as first year, however, with the way I've got this playing out in my head at the minue, I'm not too sure that I will be in need of the diary... unless... Okay I'm using the diary in Harry's second year, but I can't say for certain on any pairings such as a dark Harry/Ginny yet.**


	5. Meet Bernie and a Hallowe'en of Suspicio...

**Chapter 5 - Meet Bernie and a Hallowe'en of Suspicious Nature**

Harry had been spending a lot of time away from the Slytherins, and all other humans, ever since the day he had come out of the infirmary. The only real times he spent with them were during classes and occasionally during meals. He didn't go to the meals very often after he found the entrance to the kitchens, but he didn't have much choice as it was the Hallowe'en Feast that night.

He truly didn't feel like attending. He had always hated the day, after all, and he couldn't see any reason in celebrating the anniversary of his parents' deaths. So that pretty much explained his mood as his housemates offered him countless amounts of food whilst he just pushed what was already on his plate around. Funnily enough his appetite hadn't just fallen that night. It had dramatically fallen over a month ago when Harry had fallen off of the broom (which had never been successfully recovered).

Harry was just about to leave and spend the rest of the evening on his own when Professor Quirrel came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding out of the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately."

Harry saw Flint roll his eyes, and then heard him call for all the younger years to follow him. They did so, trying to keep up with his fast pace in all of the disorder. Rather than bothering with listening to his own year mates conversations, he choose to listen in on a couple of second years.

"How could a troll get in?" asked one. "They're really stupid."

"I don't know. I mean, even Peeves wouldn't let one in for a Halloween joke, would he?"

"I don't know, I wouldn't put it past him."

By this point Harry had slowed down, and was at the back of the group when he tripped purposely. Fortunately no one noticed, and he smirked. Perfect. The troll may be dangerous, but he would rather deal with that than his housemate's unintelligent babble.

Ducking through a passage, he slowly made his way upwards, towards the top of one of the towers, having quickly prepared an excuse in his mind the moment he had decided to get away from the group. He couldn't get in trouble for simply pointing out that the troll was in the dungeons, and that was where the Slytherin dorms were located, could he?

Harry's smirk faded at a noise. A screech, similar to that of a bat he had once heard back at Privet Drive when the Dursleys had made him do chores well into the night. It sounded hurt. Letting his uncharacteristic caring side come, he set off in search for the bat that had caused it.

When he found it he was met by a terrible stench.

'Troll' he thought darkly, but saw that the troll had already passed, leaving a trail of destruction in its' wake.

Rubble was everywhere, and a few pipes hung, broken, from a smashed section of wall, water dripping from them. Thee screeching got slightly louder as Harry walked towards to pipes, and he saw a small bat on the ground.

If he had been a girl he would have said it was cute. As it was it was enough of a pain to admit it was cute in his mind. But cute it was, looking helplessly up at him with eyes far to large for its head, just laying there. Then Harry spotted what was wrong. One of its' wings was hurt.

"Hey, little guy," he said quietly, kneeling down next to the bat. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Will you let me help you?"

The bat looked up helplessly at him, and Harry took it that look meant that the bat felt it didn't have a choice. He cradled the creature in his arm, amazed at its' weightlessness. He knew bats were light, but surely they weren't this light?!

"Mr Potter! What are you doing here?!"

Harry looked up from the bat to see all of the professors running towards him, or, in Snape's case, limping. Professor McGonagall looked as if she had been the one to speak.

"I tripped and fell when I was following Flint down to my dorm, Professor," he said, putting on his old innocent act.

"That doesn't explain what you're doing so far away from the dungeons, without the rest of your house, I might add," said Professor McGonagall.

"Well, um, when I tripped and fell I kinda realised that since the troll and the Slytherin dorms were both in the dungeons, that it might be smarter to, well, get as far away from them as possible." Hah! Muggle-loving fools! They were way too trusting. "And then I came across this bat. He looks hurts."

He showed them the bat, and Professor McGonagall seemed to look like she wanted to say something more, until Dumbledore stepped in.

"Very well, Harry. Now as the troll has left the dungeons and is somewhere else in the school, I suggest you get back to your dorm. Severus, if you would."

Snape nodded, and walked side by side with Harry until they were out of hearing distance.

"Just tell me Potter," his head of house said, still walking. "What you were really thinking when you left the rest of you house?"

"I believe I have already told Professor Dumbledore that, Professor."

Snape nodded as the two arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The professor turned away, only glancing over his shoulder at the young boy who quickly said the password. He was so different from his father.

"Oh, and Potter?"

The boy turned.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for your compassion to another living creature."

Harry nodded, smirked, and went inside the common room, still cradling the bat as his professor limped away.

The following day Harry decided to go to the Great Hall for dinner, a rare thing in itself nowadays, especially since it was the weekend, as has been mentioned previously, only to find that the room was draped in black.

"Yesterday," Dumbledore said gravely after Harry sat down. "You will all recall that a troll somehow managed to gain access into the castle. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you all that before we were able to subdue it and remove it from the castle, one of the students, first year Hermione Granger, was killed in the troll's attack. She was a top student, with great prospects and her entire life ahead of her. It is a great shame that such a bright spark was snuffed out before being brought fully to fruition. I would like you all to raise your glasses to Hermione Granger."

Most of the hall raised their glasses, though a couple of people didn't, some, like Weasley, seemed to be so deeply grieved at Granger's death that they would could not seem to bear to toast the dead girl, whilst others just couldn't be bothered. Benches scraped across the floor as everyone who would stand stood, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Hermione Granger."

The rest of the meal was a sombre affair, and Harry soon left, sorry that he had decided to come in the first place. But gone he had, though only because that the bat (Bernie, as he had decided to call her, and yes, the bat was female) he had found seemed to be getting better at a remarkable rate, and could now fly short distances at low level. Also, the Great Hall was on the way to left hand side third floor corridor, where as the kitchens were in the opposite direction.

Finally outside the oppressive atmosphere of the hall, Harry smirked. He would know what was going on at the school, and why the third floor corridor was currently forbidden, and hopefully he would manage it by the end of the night. It was all a matter of how.

Over the past month or so he had been studying the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. Both perfectly interesting. Occlumency being the magical defence of the mind against external penetration, and Legilimency being the opposite, the attacking rather than defencesive. He could already managed some mild legilimency, after having tried it out on a couple of dorm mates whilst sleeping, and he planned to use it on one of the faculty if he couldn't find out by himself.

He glanced around, then set off, making it look as if he was wandering aimlessly around the castle, thankfully avoiding everyone until...

"Potter!" called out Filch, a malicious smirk on his face. "What are you doing here."

'Dammit!' Harry inwardly seethed, but outwardly put on a look of partial innocence.

"Mr Filch? What do you mean?" he asked, starting his disgusting task of peering into the man's mind.

"You know exactly what I mean, you little filth, always strutting about, as if you own the place, I swear all of you _students_ are the same, making the lives of the staff hard. Trouble-makers, the lot of yer!"

_Philosophers' Stone..._

"Just because you can do magic don't make you special! I've got my eye open you all!"

_A Cerberus... called... Fluffy?_

"You're all plotting to destroy all that's good about the school! Why in my day..."

_Nicholas Flammel..._

"They shouldn't have let the old punishments die out, in my opinion! If they knew how much trouble you all caused!"

Harry stopped probing the unsuspecting man's mind, not going any further than was necessary.

"Uh, Mr Filch? I've never actually gotten in trouble."

"But you will do!" the caretaker exclaimed. "And when you do I am going to make sure they have the old punishments back! They'll make you think twice about breaking the rules!"

"But I already do," Harry tried to pacify the obsessed man, then got an idea. "But I agree that there should harsher consequences for rule-breakers and trouble causes. Detention and house points just aren't enough. Good day."

Filch looked gobsmacked when Harry turned and left him standing there as the Slytherin retreated to his common room to check on his bat and try to remember where he had heard the words 'Philosophers' Stone' and 'Nicholas Flammel' before.

**A/N: Now, everyone say 'awwww!' together! Isn't Bernie cute? I named her after a tree at my school which we have Christened Bernie.**

**Samurai Demon-God Sekikage: Lol, sorry, up to chapter eight is written so far, so anything that will happen to Draco won't happen until after that. Unless I was to alter them.... nah, too much effort!**


	6. Christmas Time, Mistletoe and Mirrors?

**Chapter 6 - Christmas Time, Mistletoe and - mirrors?**

As November came around the weather turned extremely cold. The mountains that surrounded the school became icy grey and the school lake chilled like steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid, the school gamekeeper, could be seen from upstairs windows, defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch, bundled up in a long mole-skin overcoat, rabbit-fur gloves and enormous beaverskin boots.

Many of the school was excited to hear that the Quidditch season had begun. Quidditch was the main sport in the wizarding world, with two teams of seven players playing on brooms, four balls (only one of which anyone could score repeatively with, and another that would end the game if caught), six goal posts and one hell of a lot of rules. Personally Harry, never having been one for sports, didn't see what was so interesting about it, especially since it was on brooms.

Every time he thought of his first and hopefully last experience with brooms, he shuddered had hated the site of them ever since. Granted, he may have become quite a good flyer is Malfoy hadn't cursed him to lose control the first time he went on a broom, but Draco hadn't known that he had cause a phobia of flying in the boy, had he? As if was, Harry had refused to go the flying lessons as it meant going near, and inevitably getting on, broomsticks.

But that wasn't the only good thing about November. By November Bernie the bat was better, and had the choice to leave, though she chose to stay with Harry most of the time. Harry was surprised that Dumbledore hadn't said anything about her since students were only allowed to have cats, owls or toads, but he supposed he wasn't especially strict on the pets rule, so long as no one brought in anything that could be classified as dangerous.

The Slytherin's first Quidditch match of the year, (which Harry managed to avoid going to, thankfully, by saying that he had too much research to do, not a total lie in itself, as he was trying to remember where he had heard of Nicholas Flammel and the Philosophers' Stone before) was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If the Gryffindorks won, they would move upto second in the house championship, if Slytherin won they would be in first place still.

Down in the library, away from the cheers and yells of the game, Harry put one book back and pulled out another under the watchful eye of Madam Pinch, the hawk-like librarian, who was probably wondering why he wasn't outside enjoying the game like the rest of the school.

The latest book, _Alchemists of our Times_, seemed to be very uninteresting and boring at first glance, and Harry began to wish that magical books had an index and contents page. Harry yawned quietly to himself as he turned a page, then his light lit up as he spotted what he had been looking for, on the first page as well.

_'The Ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosophers' Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces to elixir of life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Philosophers' Stone over the centuries, but the only one currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicholas Flammel...'_

Harry stopped reading there. He wasn't interested in what the rest of the book had to say. He had what he needed to know, so there was no point in it, except in the unlikely event that there was an alchemist called Fluffy that also happened to be a Cerberus. Harry allowed himself a quiet chuckle at that thought as he placed the book back on the shelf. They very thought was ridiculous. A Cerberus for an alchemist indeed.

Christmas was coming. One could tell, though not simply because that one morning every soul in the castle woke to find that several feet of snow had fallen and the lake frozen over. No, one could tell by the attitudes of the students and staff alike.

None could wait for the holidays to start. Classes would end, and many of the students would head home for the holidays. Most of the Slytherins would, at least, Harry being one of the few exceptions. Given the choice he had been between Hogwarts and the Dursleys, he would chose Hogwarts. He had had more than enough Christmas's at the Dursleys to last him a lifetime. So why would he want to stay with them unless he had to? They would treat him badly enough during the summer.

Several of the professors, like Professors Flitwick, Quirrel and Sprout, seemed to have given up the thought of teaching them anything so close to the holidays, whereas certain Professors (Snape, McGonagall and even Binns, who hadn't even let death stop his teaching) worked them until the bell rang.

Once the holidays began Harry, being only one of eight Slytherins staying behind, started to spend more and more time out of the common room and Slytherin territory. It started to be a common site to see him wandering around, Bernie on his shoulder as he searched for solitude. No where seemed to be quiet enough anymore, and he couldn't even concentrate on anything. It was starting to get on his nerves.

He usually ended up at the top of one of the towers, sitting or standing by one of the windows, staring out, nothing particular on his mind. It was... peaceful. Well, until Ed (the only to her first year) discovered his habit, and now wouldn't stop following him around. It was funny really. Back before the broomstick incident had taken place he had about considered him a friend, since then something had changed. Sure, the fact his father was a semi-famous muggle serial killer had interested him, but now he just seemed... boring and kind of immature. He found it quite phenomenal that they were the same age, though it appeared that all of the first years were the same; far too young mentally. In fact, the only one who seemed to be even close to him in maturity was Malfoy, but there was no way he would actually admit that, short of torture.

On Christmas Eve Harry went to bed, not really looking forwards to the next day. Christmas had always meant food, and too much food at that. And whilst everyone would be perfectly fine eating it, and for a while after, in Harry's experience people were usually short-tempered and irritable about half an hour after eating too much. Also, what were the chance of him getting anything? He would never receive anything from the Dursleys, and who in their right mind at the school would give anything to him? Some of the first years may, but that was doubtful since he was always cold towards them, and tended to work alone whenever possible.

However, early the next morning when he awakened the first thing he saw was a few packages at the end of his bed. The second thing was that Ed was also waking up.

"Wassime issit?" Ed asked groggily, looking around blinking.

"Six-thirty," Harry said, in what probably seemed to the other boy as an annoyingly wide awake and cheerful voice.

"Meh, I'm goin' back t' slee'," Harry's dorm mate said grumpily.

"Oh... You have to be the first person I've met who would go back to sleep on Christmas rather than open their presents."

Ed was wide awake in half an instant.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Presents, presents, presents!"

Harry let out a rare laugh as he watched the boy then lay back down on the bed.

"Aren't _you_ going to open your presents?" asked Ed as he noticed Harry's actions.

"Oh no, I'm going back to sleep," replied Harry. "I'd much rather go back to sleep than open presents."

As Harry closed his eyes he heard a growl, and then something soft hit him on the head.

"Thanks Ed! I needed another pillow."

"Potter! Get your arse up off of that bed this instant!"

"Why should I?"

Harry was hit with a shower of cold water, making him gasp and sit up instantly.

"That's why," Ed laughed. "So now that you're fully awake and soaking wet... Open your presents!"

"Alright, alright," Harry grumbled, reaching for the first package. "Geez, what is it with you and your presents?"

With the first package, one wrapped in silver paper with green snakes on it, was from Malfoy. The note read:

_Harry,_

_I know you still probably haven't forgiven me for that curse yet, but I truly am sorry. I had no idea it would effect you so badly. I thought it would just give you a little bit of trouble with the broom. Please, accept this gift as another apology. I had to search a lot of places for it. It's quite old and valuable too, so please look after it. You should like it,_

_Yours in hopeful friendship_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry scowled at the wrapped package, not sure whether he wanted to open it. On the one and he wanted to see what the Malfoy heir had search so hard to find, but on the other, since it was from Malfoy, he didn't want to know. Still... Malfoy had said it was old, so that meant there was some history behind it, and maybe it was on something interesting.

He carried on staring at it for a moment too, totally being ignored by Ed who was too busy eating the present he had just opened (Jellybabies from his Mum) before coming to a decision. He would open it. If he liked what he got, he would consider becoming friends with Malfoy again, if he didn't he would carry on as if nothing had happened.

Tearing off the paper Harry looked at what was now sitting on his bed: a book. But it wasn't just any book entitled _The Self-updating Encyclopaedia on Known Magical Serial Killers_. Harry gasped, and picked it up gingerly. He had heard about this somewhere since he had arrived at Hogwarts, but it was too good to be true. Sure Draco wouldn't have wanted his friendship that badly.

Gulping, Harry opened the front cover and gasped even more. There, in spidery script though it was still as clear as day as to what it said, was the name Salazar Slytherin, his house's founder. _A signed copy. He owned a signed copy of one of the rarest books in the wizarding world. _It was almost too much to take in. He would almost definitely have to make up with Draco after this.

Still in a slight state of shock, Harry reached for another present, somehow not really thinking it could be up to the same par as Mal- Draco's gift. What could? He almost wished he had opened it last.

The next few gifts were several boxes of sweets, all from Slytherins who had decided that he needed a reward for not only not losing any points, but for also gaining a lot as well, or from a few of his admirers or fans around the school.

"How many more you gotta open?" called Ed from behind a mountain of wrapping paper, obviously having finished with opening his presents. Harry regarded the other boy with distain.

"Two," Harry said, his nose wrinkling with disgust as he reached for a package. The one he picked up was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering onto the bedclothes, where it lay in gleaming folds. Harry stared in shock; an invisibility cloak?

"What's the one you just opened?"

"Nothing, just more sweets," Harry said, sounding as though he was dismissing it. It wouldn't do to tell anyone about it before he had a chance to check his theory, and even then it wouldn't do him much good. Harry glanced down at a note that had come with his. No signature.

"What's the other one then?"

"I won't know until I open it, will I?" Harry replied scathingly, reaching for his last gift.

"Then hurry up!"

Harry growled, and grabbed his last package, obviously a cloak or something of the sort that had been wrapped in an apparent hurry. As he unwrapped it, something leathery fell to the floor. Ed looked over his wrapping paper fort at the light thud it made when Harry's present hit the ground and gasped in shock.

"Is that what I think it is?" the other boy asked. "Because if it is, someone must _really_ like you for some reason."

Harry, not listening properly to his year mate, gingerly leaned over the edge of the bed and picked it up, finding it hard to believe he had been given what he thought he had been given. If it was... Gods, he could hardly believe it could be possible. Examining it closely, Harry began to look for anything that could disprove it's identity.

Judging by the softness of the material, Harry had to guess it was made from dragonhide, an Antipodean Opaleye, going by the way it shimmered. The collar was high enough to cover the neck of any one, and the clasp looked like a simple bead, but, upon closer inspection, it was made from - Harry gasped - a solidified phoenix tear. That was what did it for Harry. Nothing else would have a solid phoenix tear - nothing!

"It is," Harry breathed. "It's a-"

"Oh my God! I can't believe it! Did it come with a note?"

Harry blinks, and cast around, finally finding the piece of parchment it had come with, which was covered in delicate script spelling out the following words:

_My Dearest Son,_

_As much as it pains me to write this note, I must. If you are receiving this at this point, something has happened to your father and I before I was able to pass this onto you. Therefore I am charming this to go to you on your first Christmas at Hogwarts._

_The cloak, as you have most undoubtedly guessed by now, is one of the few of its kind ever made by Madam Malkins. It is amongst her finest work, and I was lucky to have gotten it. I urge you to wear it, my son. I placed additional spells on it after I bought it, these charms will protect you from most spells, and the clasp with heat up when you are in danger. They will not interfere with the original spells, so should you be hurts whilst wearing the cloak, the residual magic in the phoenix tear will heal you, though only so much._

_Please stay safe, Harry, and allow nothing to get you down._

_Mum_

Harry glanced up, still in shock.

"Who sent it you?"

"My mum," Harry whispered. "My mum sent it me."

Ed fell asleep almost instantly that night, full of turkey and cake, but Harry couldn't. He learnt over the side of the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak from under it.

He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. it had been his father's, the note had said. He finally had something that had belonged to his parents. He had a cloak from each of his parents, both cloaks immensely rare and valuable.

_Use it well,_ the note had also said. Harry got up out of bed. He had to use it that night, otherwise it would drive him insane. He wrapped the cloak around himself and looked down at his legs. He only saw moonlight and shadows. It was decidedly... odd to say the least.

_Use it well._ He intended to.

Suddenly Harry felt wide awake and rearing to explore the castle. He had never exactly been out of the common room when he should have been in bed. Who knew? Maybe the castle would be a more exciting place at night than it was by day.

Outside the common room, though, Harry began to think about what he was doing as he walked along the corridors. What could he do at night? He _could_ go to the library, if he wanted, but as much as he liked the place he wasn't one to spend excessive amounts of time in there.

Having nothing better to do and energy to burn, Harry decided to just walk around the upper floors, a place until he felt tired enough to sleep. He didn't go up too often to the upper floors, except for classes, the dungeons being slightly more interesting and having more of a story behind them, such as the fact that they were once used for as a prison and torture facilities back before the school had first been formed.

Peering into one of the abandoned classrooms, Harry might have been curious as to why the school had so many disused classrooms if he had been someone else. He, however, had seen the extreme amount of mess one professor could make, so he thought it was most likely that a room would be used until it became too much of a mess, then they would use another classroom as it was easier than cleaning the old one.

Inside the room was something that made Harry gasp and enter. Inside was a magnificent mirror. as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved into the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Harry knew it in an instant. He had read about the famed mirror of Erised, and it was precisely how the books had described. Now just to see what his heart's desire was. Harry moved and positioned himself directly in front of the mirror and saw...

Just his reflection staring back. He scowled at it. There was nothing different about it. It just scowled back at him, and Harry began to wonder whether or not the mirror was the actual Erised Foror Rim as it was called in some circles.

When he finally got back to bed he noticed that the sun was slowly starting to rise on boxing day. Maybe he'd been wandering around the castle longer than he'd thought.

**A/N: Okay... there's only really one thing I can add at this point before going onto the reveiw thanks, and that is: wow, over 3000 words, amazing.**

**Shadowface: How many mudbloodsdo we actually like? Beside Ed, of course, coz he's cool.**

**Lap: Yes, I named Bernie after a tree. Bernie is a cool name for both a bat and a tree. Yes, you may congratulate me on killing Hermione off. Harry got into serial killers mainly because of his family life and morbid curiosity. As to what he will do when faced with Voldemort, I'm not going to say just yet. That would spoil the entire future of this fic. I'm not too sure what triggered the alteration of the dream. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I'll have to think about it though.**


	7. Never Turn Your Back on a Gryffindor Wit...

**Chapter 7 - Never Turn Your Back On A Gryffindor With A Wand Out**

The day before the students returned to Hogwarts from the Holidays Harry had his first real encountered with the Gryffindors and the first whilst he was alone. Mostly he was the one that stayed out of it, preferring to let the others take the credit and blame for provoking them. But, however, this time it was unavoidable, as all of the Gryffindors seemed to be under the impression that Slytherins were all automatically evil beings.

"Potter," sneered Weasley from down the hall as he walked along, heading back to the common room. Harry turned and looked at him with a cool expression, regarding all of the Gryffindors around him (which was all of the first years that hadn't gone home, which was Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown) with the same expression on his face.

"Yes?" he asked, not wanting trouble, or at least not wanting trouble in such an open area where any professor could come down at any moment.

"Don't play nice with us, Potter," spat Weasley, his sneer (well, it barely looked like one, but it _was_ an attempt) dropping, was replaced with something entirely different that Harry hated the look of and also drew his wand. "You _know_ you were the one who dyed every Gryffindors Hair pink yesterday."

Harry raised an eye brow. Pink?

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked the redhead.

"We don't know!" spoke up one of the other Gryffindors, Patil.

"But we know you did it!" yelled another, Brown. "All of you Slytherins are the same! And I look terrible in pink!"

"Well, it wasn't me, I suggest you might want to ask your brothers, Weasley. They are the school pranksters, are they not?" Harry asked, keeping calm, whilst inside he was fuming. How dare these muggle-loving Gryffindors accuse him of something so juvenile! He would never sink to that level! Sure, he would cure and hex them, but never prank them! It was too... too... not like him! "Now if you'll excuse me..."

Harry trailed off and turned, intending to get back to the common room as soon as possible, but in doing so he forgot one of the fundamental rules of Slytherin: never turn your back on an opponent who has his or her wand out. And so, Weasley yelled out a spell Harry didn't recognise and was certain wasn't on the syllabus _at_ _all _and Harry was blasted into a nearby wall.

The last thing he saw before he fell into coconsciousness was three retreating pairs of shoes. Oh how he hated Gryffindors.

When Harry awoke five hours later in the hospital wing with a pounding headache, he decided that he no longer hated Gryffindors. He now despised them.

"So you're finally awake then?" came Ed's voice, who was sitting in a chair beside the bed. "What did you say to those Gryffindors? I am assuming it was the Gryffindors, of course."

Harry scowled at the disapproving tone in Ed's voice. How dare that- that mudblood judge him! How dare the boy assume he automatically went looking for the Gryffindors, just to annoy them! That was just as bad as his attackers! Though, he had thought that Ed may have had slightly more class than to assume that he was like them.

"For your information," Harry said scathingly. "I did not say anything to the Gryffindors, except for Weasley, whom I told to ask his brothers about a dogmatish prank they had pulled on them."

"Oh," Ed said, rather flatly, and was silent for a moment or two. "Dogmatish?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Some people were so uncultured and undereducated.

"Arrogant."

"Ah... Why didn't you just say that?"

"Because I didn't realise I would have to alter the manor in which I customarily speak so that imbeciles may understand."

Harry saw Ed's eyes narrowed, something which he wasn't quite sure why people did. It didn't look intimidating, but rather like someone couldn't keep their eyes open, or had lost their glasses and so couldn't see properly.

"Well, you don't have to be so cruel about it."

"Considering the fact I feel as if I am surrounded by fools every single day, I believe I'm entitled to it, don't you?"

Ed's eyes squinted even more, and Harry laughed mentally. The oaf looked hilarious.

"You've changed Harry, you've changed a lot," Ed said, and with that he left the Hospital Wing as Madam Promfrey came out.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now Mr Gein... Where is he?" Promfrey asked, obviously Ed to still be there.

"He just stormed out," piped in Harry, causing the elder witch to jump. "May I leave yet?"

"No, you most certainly may not!" Promfrey snapped, forcing the black-haired-Slytherin to lay back down. "You will be staying here the night at least! Probably most of tomorrow too!"

Madam Promfrey stormed off with that, forgetting the finish examining Harry's upper body. Harry, of course, didn't notice, being too busy glaring at her with unrestrained hatred. Now he was probably going to miss Draco's arrival! And it was all that witch's and the Gryffindor's fault! Damn them! Just because he was a Slytherin didn't mean they had to accuse him of everything! And it didn't mean that he would become on of Voldemort's followers either! Stupid damn judgemental morons!

**A/N: This chapter so would have been out last Monday, but decided to update, then they had that bug, but it's here now, and in the timeI couldn't update I wrote upto the very start of Harry's second year, which starts at chapter 11.**

**Beloved Fool: Then I hope you are still reading this.**

**Lap: Well, if I'm hiding something about the Mirror of Erised I'm hiding it really well, because not even I have it figured out yet. For news of Voldie, wait for chapter 10. As for the serial killer question, that ones hard to say. I'll answer that some other time. And I've noted that you want a slash story. Got it. Styill have to wait and see if it will be one though.**

**Shadowface: That is a very good reason to like an OC mudblood. Nop, Harry is not the heir of Slytherin, he's the heir to someone else that I'm certain that no one has done yet.**

**Andais: Yes, just his reflection. No dreams of revenge or world domination - yet. He's only eleven. Give him time and they'll appear.**

**Shadowed Rains: Erm, okay.**


	8. Batty Bats

**Chapter Eight - Batty Bats**

When Harry finally got released out of Madam Promfrey's care late the next day, Harry headed straight down to the common rooms, rather than join anyone at dinner. He wasn't particularly hungry, and he was almost certain no one would have fed Bernie. Plus it was more likely that everyone would be at dinner. However he barely got half way through the Dungeons when he got distracted by a noise on his way down.

"...D-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet me in th-this classr-room of all p-places Several..." Quirrell 's voices came through a door n the way to the common room. He wasn't alone. As soon as Harry got close enough to see, he spotted Snape in there too.

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosophers' Stone, after all."

Harry leant forwards as Quirrell mumbled something, but couldn't catch so much as a single word before Snape interrupter him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I-"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell ," said Snape, taking a step towards him.

"I-I don-t know what you-"

"Oh, you know what I mean. Tell me your little bit of Hocus Pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't-"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another chat soon, when you've had enough time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

Snape threw his billowy cloak on, and headed for a door, whilst Harry carried on walking down the corridor as if nothing had happened, rather than trying to hide. After all, some of the best hiding places are in plain sight.

Harry got back to the common room pretty quickly, and smiled. He had been right in thinking that no one would be in there. It was deserted, thankfully.

The dorm room was exactly as it had been the day before, before when he had been knocked unconcious. Idly he wondered what had happened to Weasley, Brown and Patil after they had been found out, if anything at all. It was likely they would lose house points, probably they would get a detention or two each as well, if anything was done to them. But, as they were Gryffindors, who seemed to get away with almost anything, it was unlikely to happen. If it had been a Slytherin attacking a Gryffindor it would be different. If it was a Slytherin attacking a Gryffindor, then the offending Slytherin would most likely end up with expulsion, or maybe just suspension. That was how biased the school was, even though most people didn't think it was quite as bad as it was.

Harry smiled as Bernie flew down and attached herself to the underside of his arm from where she had been, flying around frantically, possibly in an attempt to find him as he had not come back the previous evening or, more likely, in an attempt to get some exercise as she had undoubtably been shut up for over twenty-four hours.

"You all right, girl?" Harry asked when she was settled. Bernie gave quiet screech to what Harry assumed was the affirmative. "You hungry?"

There was another screech at about the same pitch, so he took it for the affirmative again. Awkwardly he got out some fruit Bernie to eat in a couple of places around his bed, placing the rest back into it's container as soon as Bernie left her perch on Harry's arm to go eat.

Harry had been slightly surprised when he had found out he had been allowed to keep Bernie after nursing her back to full health, but he had, even though it had been a blatant breach of schools rules, which stated that students could only bring in an owl, cat or toad. Of course, Weasley had broken that rule - he had a rat, a large, fat, old, lazy one which, if he was right in thinking, had belonged to the oldest Weasley currently at Hogwarts, Peter or Perce or something else beginning in Pe. Not that it mattered, of course. He, personally, didn't really give a damn about the Weasleys. They were all incredibly poor, and a disgrace to wizards, what with their obscene fascination with muggles. Sure, he may have grown up in the muggle world, but he had no desire to know about it, and he hadn't been given a choice, just placed with people who hated him.

Whoever had left Harry with the Dursleys obviously had no idea what they were like, and was most likely an incompetent idiot who couldn't evenmake a good but small decision, let alone one that would affect someone's entire life. Whoever had given them the power to do that was probably just as much - if not more - of abolute moron for giving them the power to in the first place.

He seriously doubted that his parents would have chosen to leave him with his Aunt and Uncle. They had almost certainly known that the Dursleys hated magic, so who had left him with them? Surely there would have been someone whom his parents would have considered more suitable a guardian. Obviously Lily and James wishes had been disregarded... unless the Potters' weren't quite the saints they had been portrayed as. Even if they hadn't been though, would they have abandoned their only son with people that hated magic? Somehow Harry doubted it.

Later that evening when the rest of the Slytherin first year boys came into the dorm they found Harry lying on his bed, reading the book Draco had given him for Christmas in silence. Draco took this as a sign that his friendship had been accepted again and sighed in relief. His father would have killed if he had let such a great opportunity slip through his fingers.

"Harry?" Draco said, smiling.

"Yes?" replied Harry, not bothering to look up from the book.

"Can we talk for a bit?"

Harry heaved a sigh and placed his bookmark on the page he was on (page 927, on the part about Oanez Desta, a witch who was more of a mass murderer than a serial killer, as she was the one who was responsible for the sinking of Atlantis with all of it's residents within it).

"What is it?" he said impatiently, wanting to get back to the book. It was just getting interesting again too.

"Well, I kind of want to talk in private."

Harry near enough growled at Draco, but followed the blond out of the room and down to the common room, which was surprisingly empty for the time of day, or, rather night. The two of them sat down in two armchairs by the fire, Harry glowering at the other boy.

"Harry," Draco began, suddenly acting unbelievably nervous. "I feel that I should apologise in person and truthfully for my actions in September. They were completely unacceptable."

Harry nodded, feeling that Draco was up to something, but, being not quite sure what, he just left it, filing the thought away in the back of his mind for a later date.

"Okay," Harry said, and Draco smiled in relief or gratitude, Harry wasn't quite sure which it was if it was either.

**A/N: You know what? Harry's first year is almost over. Second year starts at chapter 11. Fun, eh?**

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: No, Harry is not the heir of any of those. They've all been done before, I think. I won't tell you yet. Harry has to find out before I tell you lot. And what are you today?**

**Humg321: Thanks! I don't think Harry will recieve birthday gifts from his parents. The whole Christmas present thing was simply a way for me to give Harry something from his mother. With the occlumency and legilimency issue, well, since Slytherin house has a lot of Dark Arts books in the common rooms, it should make sense that they have a load of books that would be in the restricted section. The whole Ed thing happened for a reason, which I know only too well. Glad to know you didn't see Hermione's death coming.**

**Lap: At least it means I've got one person hooked. Of course I'm considering slash, I'm considering any option I can think of for this fic.**

**Shadowface: Harry is being a 'butt-head', as you put it because of something that has happened to him in the past (not saying when) and Ed jumped to conclusions for absolutely no reason. As to your other question, why on earth would you think that he's the heir to Morgana Le Fay?**


	9. While Dumbledore's Away the Slytherins W...

**Chapter Nine - When Dumbledore's Away The Slytherins Will Play**

The remainder of the school year passed quite quickly, Slytherin easily being in the lead for the House Cup thanks to Snape who awarded house point to Slytherin for the slightest of things and took them away from other houses for slightly larger, yet still rather insignificant things. The Quidditch Cup, however, was considered a complete lost cause because their house lacked a half-way decent seeker. It didn't matter too much though, as both the Hufflepuff and Gryffindors seemed to be even further out of the running than them. All that left was the Ravenclaws, who would, no doubt, win without trouble. It wasn't too bad though. The Slytherins could just about manage to survive if the Ravenclaws won. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff they could not live with though.

At Easter their professors started to pile them down with work for their exams, and Harry felt fortunate that he both hated flying and wasn't on the Quidditch team. Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, was working the team to the bone in the vein hope that they stood a chance to win, and had Harry been on the team he surely would not have been able to cope.

Finally, in the last week of June, the exams started for the first years, and stress level were running exceptionally high, especially for Harry, whose forehead was throbbing like their was no tomorrow half of the time.

The exams were quite unlike any that any of them had taken before. The written parts of the examinations were just like every other test Harry had taken, with the exception that the quills they used had been bewitched with a Anti-Cheating spell which stopped them from cheating by magical means. Muggle means, however, the professors foolishly trusted them with. As if they wouldn't cheat in any way possible if they could.

They also had practical exams afterwards as well. Professor Flitwick called them into the classroom one by one to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk, the use of which was lost upon Harry, as it was with the majority of other practical tests. One such test was their transfiguration, in which they had to turn a mouse into a snuff-box, points being added for how pretty the snuff-box looked and points taken if it had whiskers, fur, squeaked or ran around. Because of Harry's persistent headache he somehow managed a perfect snuff-box through some weird fluke that he couldn't explain.

The Potion's test, however, was one Harry could see the use in. They had to make the Forgetfulness Potion from memory, whilst Snape hovered about, making every non-Slytherin jumpy and nervous by breathing down their necks and making tutting noises whenever they did something that would surely correct the mistake they made whilst he had been breathing down their necks.

Harry had done his best to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead all week which had started bothering him shortly after Easter. Draco (and Ed, who had taken to accompanying Draco a lot of places for some reason) thought that it was simply a case of bad exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was Harry was being awoken every night by an old nightmare he had in which there was a bright green light, a sudden pain in his forehead about where his scar was, a high, cold laugh, and, something which had only started appearing recently, a hooded figure dripping blood.

Harry's very last exam of the week had been, thankfully, History of Magic, and he had breezed through it, confident that if he failed all of the others he would pass that with flying colours.

The rest of the first years all headed outside to enjoy the sunshine and other things they enjoyed to do in the summer. Harry, on the other hand, shook off their questions of whether he wanted to join them or not, saying he would rather head for the library. This brought many a groan from the others, but Harry ignored them. He really just needed to be someplace where he could be alone.

On his way to the library Harry literally bumped into someone. And that someone turned out to be Professor Dumbledore. Harry was sent flying to the floor.

"Ah, excuse me Mr Potter," Dumbledore said as he helped Harry up from the floor where he was sprawled. "I have to get to the Ministry immediately, an urgent matter has come up, good day!"

And with that the Headmaster vanished leaving Harry behind, bewildered for a second, when a sly grin came to his face. Dumbledore was gone from the school. That meant that the person with the most authority within the grounds was McGonagall, and there was no was she would be able to stop him from doing what he planned. And what he planned on doing was going to see what the Philosophers' Stone looked like. Simple curiosity, really, Harry justified it to himself. After all, who could blame a first year for being curious about what was contained on the third floor?

Silently Harry picked his way to the third floor, the door already ajar. Harry scowled, knowing it either meant that Hogwarts needed better security, an idea which was doubtful at best, or someone had already gone through, a far more likely possibility. Just... who could it have been?

Harry pushed the door open, and as it creaked, low, rumbling growls met Harry's ears. All three of _'Fluffy's'_ noses began to sniff as he awoke.

"Dormier," Harry whispered, sending the Cerberus into an even deeper sleep than it had probably been in before it Harry had arrived. Silently Harry began searching around the room for another way in and out. Then his eyes landed on a trapdoor which Fluffy's paw was currently draped across.

"Circe, what do I have to do around here to get a glimpse at a valuable and dangerous magical artefact?" Harry muttered rhetorically under his breath as he cleared the dog's paw from the trapdoor, opened it a looked down.

Typical. All he could see was pitch black, with no way of climbing down or too see the bottom. Oh well, sometimes you just had to take risks, he thought to himself and jump into the hole in the floor, falling for what seemed like hundreds of metres.

A while and five enchanted protections later, all of which Harry managed to get past except the last two with only a few pitiful charms and spells that any witch or wizard would have known, he found himself in a large chamber which contained the Mirror of Erised and one other person... Professor Quirrell .

**A/N: Sorry I took so long putting this chapter up. I just... I don't know, something seemed to be blocking me. Probably the fact my floppy disk went missing.****But anywayz...**

**Lap: Lol, you are obsessed. But I can't blame you, I'm just as much of a sucker for Dark!Harry and Slytherin!Harry. Good point about the pairings though. A slash and a het pairing would be fun, and should keep most people please. Still, I've got a while to think about it. Yes, Harry'll be an heir, and believe me, I am near enough certain that who he is the heir of has never been done before, even though this person is not an OC. And Harry isn't the heir of Azkaban, that's been done one or two times in the past, not many though.**

**humg123: Oooh! Fun! Potions to use on the Dursleys! I'll probably end up using that in the future, maybe the summer after second years... Yes, I think I will. And if I d do slash with this story Harry will most certainly not be flamingly gay, nor will it be a major part of the storyline. I hope.**

**The ilver erpent: True, Slyth!Harry is usually gay, even though I have read a fair amount of stories where he isn't. I guess we'll have to wait and see where I'll go with this. Not even I'm too certain.**

**Shadowface: Ah, yes, it would be the exact opposite to the Heir of Merlin Storyline, and it would work for this story. I want to know what gave you the idea of Harry being the Heir of Morgana Le fay? Oh yeah, I'm not going to reveal what's up with Draco at this moment in time, and as for Harry finding out who the idiot who left him with the Dursleys is, give him a couple of years and let his anger grow to unknown proportions, then place the idiot in front of him and... ::chuckles evilly:: You get the idea.**

**alen: Yes, it is a bit early to be thinking about pairings, but it always helps to plan ahead. I'll make no promises about Harry/Draco though. It might be, it might not.**


	10. The Man With Two Faces

**Chapter ten - The Man Who with Two Faces**

Quirrell hadn't seemed to have noticed Harry at all, but was staring, rather intently, at the mirror.

"Master," Quirrell muttered, not turning around. "I see the stone, how do I get to it?"

Harry frowned for a moment. Obviously he had caught too many glances of horror movies that Dudley used to watch when he was younger, or maybe he had read far too much about serial killers, whatever the reason, as his mind instantly associated someone calling someone else 'master' with large amounts of death and pain.

"Ah, of course Master," Quirrell muttered, and turned around, a sneer on his face, as if he was expecting to find Harry there all of a sudden, then said calmly, "Harry Potter. I wondered whether I'd be meting you here. You always did seem the interfering type."

Harry almost scowled at that. He was _not_ interfering! He was just curious!

"Of course, I don't suppose it matters if you try to interfere or not, I'm going to kill you tonight, regardless."

"Why?" Harry asked, having no clue as to why Quirrell would kill him.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"Is that the only reason you want to kill me? Because you think I'm nosy?" He was unable to contain it any longer: he burst into laughter. Quirrell 's nostrils flared and he glared at Harry. He snapped his fingers and ropes sprang up, binding Harry in place.

"Not just that Potter," Quirrell sneered in a very Snape -like manner. "Now wait quietly Potter while I examine this interesting mirror."

Harry was silent, mind racing. Who was Quirrell 's master? It was likely that only powerful dark wizards insisted on being called master, and the most powerful dark wizard Harry could think of was...

"Voldemort?"

"I see you've figured out who my master is, now shut up," Quirrell said, idly walking around to look at the back of the mirror.

Quirrell came out from behind the Mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the stone... I'm presenting it to my Master... But where is it? What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me Master!"

To Harry's shock, a high pitched and terrifying voice, answered, a voice that seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy... Use the boy..."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes - Potter - Come here."

He clapped once and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look into the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked towards him. Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, as pale as always staring back at him at first. But a moment later the reflection smirked at him. It put it's hand in its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - his reflection had given him the Stone!

"Well?" said Quirrell said impatiently. "What do you see?"

"My reflection holding the Philosophers' Stone," replied Harry, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Quirrell's eyes widened, as if he had been expecting a lie.

"You have the Stone? Give it too me!"

Quirrell dived at Harry, but Harry dodge a lot faster than Quirrell could move.

"Why should I? What's in it for me?" Harry asked, wanting to know. No way was he going to do something for nothing.

Quirrell made to dive towards Harry again, but this time the same high-pitched, disembodied voice ordered him otherwise.

"Stop!" the voice commanded, and Quirrell obeyed in an instant. "Let me speak with him... face to face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Had Harry been a Gryffindor he probably would have attempted to run, fearing Voldemort completely, possibly not even saying the Dark Lord's name. But Harry was not a Gryffindor, but a Slytherin, so why shouldn't he face the person who had killed off hundreds of muggles? Sure, Voldemort had killed Harry's parents in the process, but they had been muggle-lovers, trying to protect people like the Dursleys.

Interested, Harry watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What exactly was going on, anyway? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he slowly began to turn on the spot.

Harry probably would have screamed if he hadn't suddenly lost the use of his voice. Where should have been the back of Quirrell's head, there was a face, the ugliest face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter..." Voldemort whispered. Well, Harry assumed it was Voldemort. He had no proof that it was. "Do you see what I have become, thanks to you? Mere shadow and vapour... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their heart's and minds... Unicorn Blood has strengthened me these past few weeks... Once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me the Stone in your pocket?"

"Because you still haven't explain what's in it for me."

Voldemort chuckled at what Harry said, obviously finding it humorous in some way.

"A Slytherin at heart I see? Perhaps the Sorting Hat didn't make such a mistake as I thought it did what it placed you there... Very well, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "You have my word as a wizard that should you give me the Stone I will not force you to join me, nor will I kill you, providing you don't fight against me."

Harry thought about it for a moment for two. Should he give up the Stone then he would not be forced to join Voldemort, nor would he be killed by Voldemort. On the other hand, there were worse things than death... Oh, whatever.

"Fine," Harry shrugged, reaching into his pocket, and passing the Stone to Quirrell's, who had now turned around so as he could take the Stone, waiting hand.

"Oh, and Potter?" Harry turned, having been slowly walking away. "Stupefy."

Harry cursed as the beam of light sped towards him, recognising it as a stunning spell that was learnt in forth year. It hit him and he fell unconscious.

* * *

Something gold was glinting just above him, and he had no idea what it could be. He blinked. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

He blinked again. The sorrowful face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him, then he remembered what had happened. No wondered it was now afternoon when it had been evening what seemed to him to be only a few minutes ago.

"Sir?" Harry said, trying to sit up but failing miserably. His body just seemed too heavy. So he gave up and looked around him. Harry realised with a silent groan that he was in the Hospital Wing yet again. He was lying in a bed with linen white sheets and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half a sweet shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore said, sudden beaming, an odd contrast to the sorrowful look from before. "What happened down in the dungeons is a complete secret between yourself and Voldemort, so naturally the whole school knows."

"Wh-what did happen?" Harry asked, unable to keep a slight stutter out of his voice. Then at the Headmaster's sharp look added, "I can't remember it too well."

"Ah, that is simple enough," Dumbledore seemed placated. "I had left for the Ministry earlier on the day that you went to face Voldemort - you have been unconscious for three days now - but no sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived in time to see Voldemort reborn, you yourself unconscious on the floor and Professor Quirrell lying, alas, dead a few feet away from you. Unfortunately I could not stop Voldemort from leaving the school."

Harry pretended to look shocked at the news. Who could blame him for looking shocked anyway? He had just heard that his parents murderer was now back in power pretty much. But inside Harry was silently cheering. Soon Voldemort's campaign to rid the world of muggles and mudbloods would start again, and he didn't have to fight on either side! Things couldn't get better!

The next day, having been released from the Hospital Wing with a full bill of health, Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone. All his friends had gone on ahead, having visited him not long after Dumbledore and said they would meet him there, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush and then everybody started talking at once. He slipped into his seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Fortunately Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said, looking around them all. "There is much I would like to say tonight, but first there is the most pressing issue I must address. As you will all have noticed, Professor Quirrell is no longer with us. There have been many stories of how his death came about, but I feel that telling people how things actually are is always the best course of action.

"Professor Quirrell was killed in a successful attempt to bring Lord Voldemort back to Power."

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall, none of them having heard the part of the tale of what happened in the dungeon about Voldemort returning to power. People in the Great Hall at other tables were looking at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish for me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth in generally preferable to lies, and any attempt to pretend that Professor Quirrell died do to some accident will only result in more casualties than the truth ever would."

The feast carried on from there, Dumbledore announcing what he believed to have happened down in the dungeons, the House Cup being awarded, and finally the food arriving. Harry was faced with a lot of questions from his fellow Slytherins during the meal about what had happened, all of which were answered, rarely with the truth.

The following day the exam results came in, all of the Slytherin first years, even including Crabbe and Goyle, passed every subject. Harry was amongst those who had hoped that Weasley in Gryffindor would have failed and would be thrown out, but he had passed, too. it was a shame, but as Draco said, you couldn't have everything in life, no matter how hard you tried.

And suddenly wardrobes were empty and their trunks packed, Bernie placed in a bat carrying case; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic during the holidays. Hagrid the school game keeper was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating sweets as they sped past muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for all of them to get off of the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so that they didn't attract too much attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the muggles.

Harry went through with Draco, and spotted Uncle Vernon waiting impatiently, still as purple-faced, still as moustached as ever and looking as furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying a bat in a carrying case in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

"Are _they_ your relatives?" asked Draco, not looking at all impressed at the sight. At Harry's nod he spoke again. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with me for the holidays?"

"Wish I could," Harry said grimly, then a tiny smile came to his face and said in a joking voice, "but they'd probably kill me."

Draco grinned, and walked off towards his own father. As soon as he was out of earshot the smile and the joking voice dropped.

"Literally."

Well, there you have it. The very first year in Harry Potter's magical education, and not too many know the truth about what happened at the end of the year with the Dark Lord. Young Harry certainly did not share it with many people over later years, and it is a miracle that it can be told to anyone.

However, this was just the start of what happened to young Harry at Hogwarts. Things certainly went to hell for a lot of people after that. None of them seemed to know what had caused such bad luck. Some had their suspicions that it might be Harry Potter being in Slytherin, but no one could answer that. Who knows? Had Harry Potter been a Gryffindor things may have been better for the world in general, but that is not how it turned out, and it is you read on, read on to find out about Harry's second year, when the chamber of secrets was opened and Harry was blamed for it all.

**A/N: Well, second year should start next chapter. But I doubt I'll have that out for a while. You see, it's suddenly struck me how huge a task this is, rewriting all seven years of Harry's time at Hogwarts, so I really think I'll need to plan out up until Harry's second Christmas at Hogwarts, minimum. Well, parts of it at least, which could take a while.**

**Lap: I'm glad you liked that line. It just seemed like the thing a slightly frustrated and SlytherinHarry would say. There are two possible ways to answer why Harry simply wanted tosee the stone. The first you mentioned, being Harry's Slytherin side not being big enough. The other is that in the Slytherin way of thinking, 'see' means 'look at, then steal if it's worthy of your attention and can be stolen'. Like what I got Harry to do with the stone? Giving it to Voldemort seemed like the perfect thing to do. Yay for obsessions! I think they're a perfectly healthy thing to have, especially if they concern a dark, evil and/or slytherin Harry.**


	11. The Mirror of Erised

**Chapter eleven - From Hell to Home Again**

The following September the first began Harry's second year at Hogwarts, and he, along with all the other students, travelled on the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross to Hogsmeade station (something which he was almost late for, as something that had big bat-like ears, majorly huge green eyes and wore a pillowcase that people said had escaped from a near-by animal testing facility had held up traffic somehow), and then from Hogsmeade station to Hogwarts in some horseless stagecoaches. Mere moments after Harry sat down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall the doors at the end were opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the hall. All of them were shivering from nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt facing the rest of the school.

McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the ground in front of the first years and on top of it the same old, dirt, patched and frayed wizard's hat. Everyone within the hall stared intently at it. There was a moment of silence, then the same tear near the brim as last year opened wide like a mouth and, once again, it burst into song.

'_I'm here to sort you, aren't I now?_

_Into a house,_

_That suits you best_

_For whom you are_

_Not who you ought to be._

_Maybe you are a Slytherin,_

_Who know what they want_

_And aren't afraid to get it_

_Or are you a Hufflepuff_

_Loyal to the end, and_

_Unafraid of toil._

_Maybe Gryffindor's for you_

_Where lie the brave, daring,_

_And not to mention caring._

_How about Ravenclaw_

_The smartest of the bunch_

_The clever folk'll always come through in a crunch._

_So which as you?_

_Brainy or brave? Hard working or ambitious?_

_Just put me on,_

_And I'll tell you who you are.'_

The hall burst into applause, and McGonagall started speaking, saying the exact same things from one year prior. Harry stopped paying attention there and then, not in the slightest bit interested in the sorting. Sure, he clapped when a first year made it to Slytherin, but that was about it. The Sorting was not interesting in the slightest, just like last year.

The sorting ended with Ginevra Weasley, most probably the sister of the same Weasley that didn't like Harry or Slytherins, becoming the newest Ravenclaw. Dumbledore stood up and announced the feast once Ginevra sat down.

Later that night, at around midnoght, after much tossing and turning Harry finally decided that he would not be able to sleep at that point in time. So he did what any student would do in the middle of the night when they were unable to sleep: he went for a walk.

The corridors in Hopgwarts were the same as the last time Harry had gone wandering in the middle of the night. The were cold, dark, comfusing and imposing. Or they would be to pretty much anyone other that Harry. He preferred them that way, and they were much better than his time at the Dursleys during the summer had been.

Harry shuddered at the memory of it. It hadn't been exactly pleasent, and briefly he wondered two things. Why he hadn't agreed to go to Draco's when the blond had asked, and if it was possible to erase ones own memory of a terrible event. He didn't think you could, but it was worth finding out.

Whilst Harry was thinking about these things, he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. Had he, he would have noticed that his feet where carrying him to somewhere very familiar.

When he finally came to a stop and he started paying attention to where he was. He was in the exact same room as he had been in under a year ago. Everything was exactly the same as the last time he had visited it, some the plaster on the ceiling to the Mirror of Erised - Hang on! Harry did a doubletake, and saw that the Mirror was indeed there. That shocked Harry. He would have thought that after the fiasco with the Philosophers' Stone that it would either still be down in the final chamber or it would have been moved to a more secure location. Either way, Harry wasn't going to let an oppurtunity slip through his fingers.

Stepping up to the mirror, Harry expected to see maybe one or two things, as everyone invariably did. What he did not expect to see was four different things.

The first thing he saw was himself standing, laughing hysterically in number four, Privet Drive, over the dead bodies of Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley. That alone made Harry's day to see, even though it was unlikely to ever happen.

The second thing Harry saw was nothing that seemed too surprisingly, though it seemed like a great idea: Harry was Supreme Ruler of the Wizarding World and had ordered the extermination of all muggles. Fun, no?

The next thing Harry saw was himself surrounded by literally thousands of books. It looked like paradise, though he knew that most people would not agree.

And the final thing he saw within the mirror was something that he felt vaguely disturbed about. What he saw was something he never really though could be anyone's heart's desire, so he came to the conclusion that either the mirror was broken or he was slightly mad. He wasn't quite certain which one it was. He saw himself surrounded by various types of cheese.

Shaking his head, Harry lefy and went back down to his dorm in the hopes of getting a few hours of sleep before he got up to go to classes.

**A/N: I'm back to writing as you can probably tell, and I've planned out only part of year two so far. Looking at what I've got planned, year two should be longer than Year one, which was 17,043 words long by my count (not including author's notes and the like), though I'm not sure by how much.**

**About the Sorting Hat's song in this chapter, I really apologise for it. I can't write songs**

**Oh yeah, about this chapter, I finally came up with an answer to the question I was asked by a couple of people when I wrote the first scene about the Mirror of Erised, back in Harry's first year. That's why this chapter is about Harry finding it again. It was so I could show that Harry's Slytherin tendencies have developed a lot in about nine months or so.**

**john1234: Hiya mate! Evil Harry's fun! But he may just be dark... Actually, I don't know. Given some of the things he's into, evil is probably the most likely. heehee, glad you didn't expect Harry to give the stone to Voldy. It's always a fun little twist to have that no one does.**

**pickle-kitten: Thanks! It's great to know people liked it! I hope you like year two as well!**

**Shadowface: The Harry as the heir of Slytherin storyline has been used quite a bit, so no.**

**humg321: Well, there are lots of things up with Ed and Harry, but they will almost certainly resolve their differences, and I know the perfect time for the two of them to. As for the second year... well, I'm not going to give too much away at this point. Let's just say Voldemort is constantly trying to find ways to make himself more powerful.**

**Wirginia Riddle-Malfoy: Thanks! And a merry new year to you now.**


	12. Defence Against the Dark Arts, with Your...

**Chapter twelve - Defence Against the Dark Arts, with Your Self-obsessed Host, Gilderoy Lockhart!**

The next day Harry had Defense Against the Dark Arts third lesson with Gryffindors. That was bad enough news in itself, but what was worse was that Harry hadn't been paying attention to the announcements Dumbledore had made the night before, one of which was concerning their new Defence Professor. Had Harry been listening he would have heard who the professor was in advance, and so he could have taken action before hand concerning the professor: killing himself, for instance, would have been a good choice.

But, as it was, Harry was sitting in the Defence classroom along with the other Slytherin and glaring at the Gryffindors who were at the other side of the room in the traditional split when the professor walked in, held up Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls to show everyone his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing and winking as well. Many eye brows were raised, and, in the cases of any and all females in the room, dreamy sighs were given. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He waited for a few laughs. The only ones forthcoming were from the lovestruck girls, all of whom were at the from of the respective sides of the room.

"I see you've all brought a complete set of my book - well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in..."

When Lockhart had handed out the papers he returned to the from of the room and said, "You have thirty minutes. Start - _now!_"

Harry looked down at the test paper and it took all his self-control to not make a sound. The questions were ridiculous. All fifty-four of them had the words 'Gilderoy Lockhart' in them, and none of them were about defence. Suddenly an idea came to Harry's mind, and he started to answer the questions. They began like this:

_1.What is Gilderoy Lockhart's Favourite colour?_

_I don't know, uh, tarten?_

_2.What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_Um, To develop his own range of mind controlling hair products?_

_3.What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

_Probably the fact he got away with writing fiction as fact and that he is now supposed to be teaching us Defence Against the Dark Art's, instead of giving us a ridiculous quiz about him and tiddly little facts that absolutely no one cares about._

Harry went on and on, answering every single question in a similar fashion, until he finally got to the last one.

_54.When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what would his ideal gift be?_

_I don't know, why don't you ask his mother when his birthday is and then totally ignore his birthday like the rest of us?_

Only minutes after Harry finished writing Lockhart collected in the papers and began flipping through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Weekend with a Werewolf_ more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

Many eyes were rolled at Lockhart's last statement, and it seemed that for once the feelings between the two houses were mutual - the girls were in love with Lockhart and the boys thought he was one of the most idiotic, moronic and stupidest people in existence. The boys were probably the closest.

The grin on Lockhart's face that showed off everyone of his pearly white teeth faltered as he came to one test, which Harry assumed was his. He flipped it over and frowned, then looked up.

"Harry Potter, stay after class."

And that was it. People turned and stared at Harry, probably all wondering what he had put in his answers that had made Lockhart make the decision to keep him after class. Harry just smirked, and watched as Lockhart bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know that no harm can whilst I am here."

Harry suddenly felt an impending sense of doom at those words, and he began to wonder if it would be a better idea to get Lockhart out of the room first before whatever was in the cage was revealed. They would undoubtedly be a lot safer that way.

"All I ask is that you remain calm. I must ask you not to scream, it might provoke."

Harry suddenly felt like bursting into laughter. He could tell that this class was going to be pointless and a waste of time.

"Yes, Lockhart said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies."_

Several gasps came from the girls in the room whilst al the boys tried not to laugh. Finnigan didn't manage to control himself as well as the Slytherins, or even the Gryffindors. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart could not have mistaken for a cry of fear, and that was saying something. Harry could, for once, agree with muggle-loving Gryffindor.

It was almost enough to make Harry smile, the fact that Lockhart had said they would be facing the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. Pixies were hardly foul. In fact, from what Harry knew, they just liked to play tricks on people.

"Yes?" Lockhart smiled at Finnigan.

"Well they're not - they're not very - _dangerous_ are they?" Finnigan just choked out.

"Don't be so sure! Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

Harry suddenly felt as if the impending doom he had felt earlier was about to be justified, so he stuck his hand in the air.

"Professor, may I go to the bathroom?"

Lockhart nodded, but told him to hurry back, as he would miss the best part. Harry hurried past the cage of electric blue pixies and out of the room. He had no intention of getting back in quickly. He could just imagaine what would happen: Lockhart was going to release the pixies, he guessed, and from what he had seen already, Lockhart would be unable to deal with it.

Several minutes later the class ended and everyone fled the classroom just as Harry was returning. It looked like Harry's suspicions had been correct. Lockhart came out last and he shut the door quickly behind him. See Harry stabnding there with a raised eyebrow, he tried to look as if he hadn't been fased by straightening his robes and smiling widely.

"Mr Potter, I believe I wanted to see you after class."

Harry nodded at the professors words.

"Very well, come to my office, it will be easier to talk there."

Once in Lockhart's office, just a few doors down from his classroom, Harry sat down in the chair that was placed in front of the desk in there, feeling suddenly slightly perturbed at being surrounded by so many pictures of Lockhart, all smiling merrily and waving cheerfully.

"Ah, Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart said, shaking his head sadly as soon as he had sat down. "I am truly disappointed in the way that you answered the questions on my quiz, though nothing to be shocked at. Attention seeking, most likely. But I'm afraid a few of your answers quite disturbed me. Would you mind telling me why you said my books were works of fiction?"

Harry simply raised an eyebrow.

"Well, they are. It is a simple enough reason," Harry said, not showing any of his thoughts, which were along the lines of _'what the hell does this fraud think he's playing at?!'_ and '_I wonder if it would be possible to break all the teeth Lockhart has in his photos...'_. "Also, on the question I put that as my answer for, you ask for my opinion, which I gave."

"Harry, Harry, Harry, do you think that I did nothing towards my books besides writing them?"

"Yes," Harry nodded, having a good idea where this conversation was going to go.. "Pretty much."

"Well you are wrong. I had to do much research on them. I-"

"So you admit you didn't do anything in them? Just researched, possibly found out the exact stories, placed memory charms on the people who told you them then altered the accounts for your own purposes?"

Lockhart looked horror-struck at being found out. He probably hadn't been expecting to have been figured out by a twelve-year-old.

"Well, Harry, my dear boy, it appears you now know the truth. But I can't have to going around telling everyone I did not do the things I said I did in my books. It would be bad for sales, you see. Now..."

When Harry saw that Lockhart was reaching for his wand, Harry made a quick grab for his own, but did not get to it in time. Before he could ever raise it he saw Lockhart's wand pointed directly between his eyes.

"Say good-bye to your memories boy! _Obliviate!"_

"Wha-" Harry started to say, but then he forgot what he was going to say.

"So Mr Potter, can I expect you to act more mature in future?"

"What? Oh, yes," Harry said confused. What was he doing in Lockhart's office? He couldn't remember.

**A/N: Wow, that was fun. You have no idea how much I hate Lockhart at the moment, whether it's because of what he did to Harry or because I used a lot of his speech in this chapter from Chamber of Secrets so I had to read a bit about him, I don't know, but I really hate him.**

**Okay, the whole thing with the Chamber will start next chapter. Not so much as Harry getting blamed, but it will be opened, and as Harry hates Halloween, he won't be at the feast, so you can imagine what everyone's reactions will be, especially considering I told you at the end of chapter ten.**

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: Yes, cheese. The Mirror doesn't have a sense of humour though. One of Harry's current heart's desires is cheese.**

**Lap: I would say you were in a bit of a state then, whch would explain the lack of a review. I'm pretty much certain Harry will be evil in this story. I cut out the summer for a very good reason, and it's one of the few things I've pretty much had planned from the start. As to what was so bad that Harry would consider an obliviate, he was a the Dursleys a long, long time (well, it seemed it to him). And about what Harry will do about the Chamber, you literally gave me the entire idea for it now, and I know exactly when Harry will start to help.**


	13. Why Did the Weasley Hiss?

**Chapter thirteen - Why Did the Weasley Hiss?**

Harry sat in the library on the first Saturday back at Hogwarts, trying to do homework which he had put off for some reason or another, one which he wasn't quite sure what it was. Well, when I say trying, I do not mean that Harry couldn't do the work. I mean he was trying to do it, but was being watched closely by someone constantly and it was annoying him so much he couldn't concentrate. Finally annoyed enough, Harry looked up and saw a blond haired Hufflepuff staring straight at him.

"Yes?" Harry asked. The boy was obviously a first year. No Hufflepuff older than that would talk to a Slytherin out of fear for their lives.

"All right Harry? I'm - I'm Colin Creevey." Yes, there was the stutter. "I'm in Hufflepuff. D-you you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?"

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly, and Creepy - ah, I mean Creevey, held up what looked like an ordinary muggle camera.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Creevey eagerly, edging further forwards. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got the lightning scar on your forehead" (Creevey's eyes racked Harry's forehead, which was thankfully covered by his fringe), "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move._" Creevey drew a shuddering breath here, and Harry was pretty sure that when he had been a first year he hadn't been as excitable as Creevey. "It's _brilliant_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My Dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you. And then could you sign it?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, knowing that there was no doubt why this kid wasn't a Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor always volunteered too much information on first meetings. It did nothing to help them get ahead. The kid had already said he was a mudblood, basically. His father wasn't magical, after all. Of course the boy hadn't mentioned his mother, so she might not be alive, but that did not matter. It was unlikely she was magical.

"No," Harry said, enjoying the look on the kid's face as it went from hopeful to shock. "I don't do signed photos, nor do I do photos whenever possible. And I definitely do not associate with Hufflepuffs or mudbloods."

Creevey's eyes widened and he stared in fear at Harry, then ran off, possibly to cry. Harry smirked at his retreating back. He hadn't done something that felt so much fun in ages.

September flew by for Harry after he caused that Hufflepuff first year to run off, terrified and crying, as did all of October, up until the thirty-first. That was when things started to go downhill in second year for Harry, but I suppose you should read to see for yourself.

After making Creevey cry time flew by for Harry, and before he knew it it was Halloween. Of course, Harry wouldn't be going to it. He had far better things to do with his time, which was why the night of All Hallows Eve found Harry in a deserted bathroom, a _girl's_ bathroom no less. Well, one of the stalls, but it was still a girl's bathroom.

Now, you may ask why Harry was in a deserted girl's bathroom stall, and how he knew it would be deserted. Well, the answer to the second part is simple. He had been searching around the school for some weeks now for somewhere that no one would be in, and he had found it in the form of a girl's bathroom that was the girls avoided because of the ghost that resided there. Fortunately, the ghost, Myrtle, was out that night.

But what Harry was doing in the bathroom was not something that the more sickminded of you would imagine. No, he was not with any boy or girl in that bathroom, so you can putthose images out of your head's right this instant. What Harry was doing in the bathroom was brewing a potion.

A potion was not something you would expect someone to be making alone in a bathroom though. You would expect people to make them in dungeons. But Harry couldn't very well use one of the dungeons, as who knew who would walk in as he was making an illegal potion.

Yes, that's right. Harry Potter was making an illegal potion in a girl's bathroom stall. The potion he was making though, had only just been made illegal, so he didn't really care. Anyway, the potion Harry was brewing was supposed to indicate the bloodlines whom the brewer was descended from, and wouldn't be completed until Christmas Day. But that's not what you need to know about yet.

What you need to know about is that just as Harry finished preparing the one of the ingredients he would need for the potion when he heard someone enter. Harry froze, praying that it wasn't someone looking for him. If it was it wouldn't look good for him. But before Harry could think any further with the consequences than '_Shit! I'm so screwed!'_ he realised that they almost certainly weren't looking for him. In fact, they probably did not know he was there.

Whoever it was didn't notice as he looked outside the stall and saw what was going on. Ginevra Weasley was holding a book open by the sinks, and seemingly speaking, though all that was coming out of her mouth was a series of strange hisses. Shocked, Harry saw that the sinks glowed a brilliant bright white, and Harry saw that they moved apart, leaving a pipe large enough for a man to slide down. Ginevra (or Weasleyette as Draco called her on occasion) jumped in.

It took several minutes for this to process in Harry's, and by the time it did he decided to do something completely reckless and stupid, something that a Gryffindor would do without so much as a second thought. Had Harry been thinking clearly, rather than his thoughts being numbed by the discovery of the entrance to (if he was right in thinking) the Chamber of Secrets, he would not have done it, but as it was he did. Harry jumped down the pipe.

Sliding down the pipe felt as if it was an endless, slimy, dark slide. There were more, smalled pipes branching off in other directions. The one Harry was one sloped steeply downwards, and twisted and turned in all directions, and Harry knew he was probably deeper than the final chamber from last year.

Finally, as Harry's mind was beginning to work again, and he realised he had no way of stopping when he came to the ground, the pipe leveled out and he shot out of the end with a wet thud on something that dug into his back. Harry reached behind him and brought it into his line of vision. It was a rats skull. Okay, it was a _really_ bad idea to go down that pipe. Especially now that he realised he also had no way of getting back up. Just wonderful.

Well, seeing that he had nothing else to do, Harry decided that he might as well explore, and what better way to explore than to go straight ahead. Heh, who knows, he might even run into the monster of Slytherin.

After what seemed like hours of walking later, though in reality Harry realised it could not have been more than five, maybe ten, minutes, Harry came across a solid wall ahead of him on which two entwined serpents were carved to look like S's, their eyes set with emeralds that matched Harry's eyes.

Harry tensed at the sight of the snakes. The last time he had been in close proximity of a snake, something had happened, which even today he wasn't too certain about even though he knew about magic, and it had caused him nothing but trouble. Oddly, though, Harry felt slightly compelled to speak, as to why he could not guess.

"_Um..."_ Harry said in a low, faint hiss. Before he could say anymore to serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight and Harry stared into what he was almost certain was the Chamber of Secrets itself.

**A/N: Does this chapter seem unbelievably short to you all? It does to me. It's exactly 1,450 words according to my word count, but it seems so much less. Weird.**

**And you know what? Two things occured to my whilst writing this chapter, and both of those were about Colin. First is that his mother is never mentioned in book two, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't in any of the others, so rather than Colin being muggleborn, it's possible he may be half-blood. The other thing I noticed about Colin? His Dad is a milkman. So what I hear you cry! Well, do you realise how many jokes there are going on about people having affairs with milkmen? Okay, neither of those things had anything to do with anything really, but I thought I would share my observations with everyone.**

**Lap: I let Lockhart obliviate Harry for one very good reason: When Harry finds out what happened... let's just say Lockhart with be no longer with us. Your saying my mind is sly? You positive? Because I'm not sure it's Sly. ::blushes:: You're getting a bit carried away. I'm pretty sure you don't love me. As for how I'll make it blow over, the way I see it I have two options: mass obliviate or... well, there is another one, but I'm just not just what it is. But I do know the basilisk will live and no one will realise for a while. Riddle will get his body back, but I know for certain he will not be spending the summer with Harry at the Dursleys. Pity though. It would have been a wonderful start to a slash fic.**

**Talons: Yep, cheese taste good. The hair care products answer was right though! Just slightly - uh - edited!**

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: Well, authors make their characters like themselves alot, and I like cheese a lot. Plus it seemed like a funny thing to see in the Mirror. Harry does find out about his memories being wiped by Lockhart. Just not until slightly later on in the year.**

**Shadowface: Ah, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Harry will not be kicking any butt when he gets his memories back. He will be getting others to do it for him.**

**Aowyn: Well, since you asked in such a nice way instead of demanded, and I've already got the first chapter and part of the second of Azkaban Child written, I'll post it. I think I should be able to keep up with posting both, or I hope I will.**

**HarrySlytherinson: This soon enough?**

**raistlin master of present and: Well, there's a simple enough answer to that: it's a power issue for Voldemort. He just wants more power.**


	14. The Heir of Slytherin

**Chapter fourteen - The Heir of Slytherin**

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long black shadows through the odd, greenish light that filled the place. Hollow eye sockets of stoned snakes seemed to dart around the room and a statue stood as high as the chamber itself was at the other side. Harry had to crane his neck up to look at the giant, ancient and monkey-like face of a wizard with a beard, a wizard whom Harry recognised as Salazar Slytherin himself. The Chamber looked beautiful.

At the other end of the chamber, near the statue, Harry saw as he took a step inside, was where the Weasleyette was, lying passed out on the floor beside a diary and a teenage wizard.

When Harry first stepped into the Chamber, the boy had not spotted him, but after a moment or two Harry stepped in a puddle of water which made a splash, he turned.

The boy looked remarkably like Harry supposed he might do in several years time. He had black hair and a very similar facial structure and build. The boy looked shocked to have been followed.

"Who are you?" the boy asked suspiciously. "How did you get down here?"

Harry could have smiled then and there. The boy was obviously doing something that was illegal, otherwise he wouldn't have let his nervousness show through. The boy was wearing Slytherin colours, after all.

"I could ask you the same question, since you seem to be the one that would suffer most from the consequences, should anyone find out," Harry said coolly whilst his mind seemed to be working at one hundred miles per hour. Before, having read a couple of books and having seen pretty much all the evidence he would ever need, Harry concluded that this place was definitely the Chamber of Secrets. Now, he thought, if only the heir could open the chamber, and the only people down there besides himself were Ginevra Weasley and that boy, he concluded that the boy was the heir of Slytherin, as the chances of it being a Weasley were slim to none.

"I asked first," the boy snarled, his eyes darting all over the chamber.

"Very well," said Harry. The boy was unlikely to be a threat. He hadn't come down here with Ginevra, as far as he could see, so he wasn't, in all probability, a threat. "I am Harry Potter. I got down here by the same way you did. You really should have closed that entrance you know. And you are?"

"Harry Potter?" the boy asked, not having heard a word Harry had said after his name. "You are _the_ Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? The defeater of the Dark Lord? Aren't you kind of puny for that?"

Harry bristled. The boy had managed to switch from nervousness and fear to overconfidence within a matter of seconds.

"You still haven't said who you are," hissed Harry, eyes narrowed. The boy switched back to nervousness all of a sudden, and he glanced down at the unconscious form of Ginevra.

"Why should I tell you? You may run off and tell Dumbledore immediately that someone was planning on killing all the mudbloods and muggle-lovers in the school if I did."

"Why would I do a thing like that?" replied Harry. "I hate muggles and mudbloods. There's far too many of them and they do nothing worthy of any notice. The world would be better off without them all."

"Very well," the boy said, not fully convinced, but had decided that if Harry hadn't already run off to Dumbledore he was unlikely to. "My name is Tom Riddle."

Later that night, Harry got back to the Common Room; he had just sat down to read when the entrance to the commons burst open and a multitude of people came through.

"Potter!"

"How in Merlin's name did you do it?!"

"You are completely unbelievable!"

"Filch's cat I can kind of understand, but why did you leave that message? Now everyone thinks you're the Heir!"

"Are you?"

"What... are you all talking about?" Harry asked clamly, appearing clueless at the same time, though he completely understood what they were talking about.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Draco said, managing to fight his way to the front of the crowd. "It had been opened."

"Has it?" Harry feigned confusion. "Since when?"

"Quit playing the part of an imbecile, Potter," Nott pushed his way past the assorted Slytherins. "The Chamber of Secrets was opened tonight during the feast, and the monster inside petrified Filch's cat. _You_ were the only student not present at the feast, so _you_ must be the heir of Slytherin."

Harry's eyebrows rose. That was not true. He hadn't been the only student away from the feast. The Weasley hadn't been there either. Just because she was a Ravenclaw she didn't get accused. Could the school get much more prejudiced?

"I can assure you I had no idea that the Chamber had been opened. What message were you talking about though?"

Many of the Slytherins exchanged glances. It didn't seem as if Harry was lying. In truth he wasn't, technically. He hadn't had any idea the Chamber had been opened. He just didn't mention when he hadn't known it had been opened. He had known it had been opened when it had been openeed, but he hadn't known that it had been opened fifty years before.

"'_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware_'," Draco said, not appearing the buy into Harry's act of not knowing that the Chamber had been opened.

"Hmm, interesting," Harry said, and there were several skeptical glances at him by the more suspicious Slytherins. "What? You all don't seriously believe that _I_ am the heir? Both of my parents of _Gryffindors!_ My mother was a _mudblood!_ Do you honestly think that Salazar's heir would have married a mudblood, let along have been in Gryffindor?!"

Harry had put on quite a performance, convincing every that he had no known about the Chamber being opened, and convincing people that he wasn't the heir. He knew he wasn't the heir, that was certain, but he certainly had known about the Chamber opening before anyone else in the school did this time around.

Several minutes later, many Slytherins were still asking questions, though thankfully to one another, not Harry. Still, it was getting on Harry's nerves, so finally having enough, he got up and made his way to his dorm, hoping against hope that there would be no one in there to ask him about the Chamber. Unfortunately, these hopes were not realised.

Ed was there.

Ignorant mudblood, Harry mentally snarled. Why couldn't Gein stay in the common room like everyone else? Not he would probably be asking questions.

He didn't though. Ed just stared at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. The staring was unnerning, but no more than staring was every single day. Taking on the same attitude as he usually did, Harry just got changed and lay down to sleep, knowing that the next morning would be a problem in the form of all of the school with the exception of Slytherin.

**A/N: Dammit! I'm sorry this chapter's so short everyone! For some reason I had loads of trouble with the first part in the chamber. I still hate what I put, but I'm glad that bit's over. And you'll have noticed that Tom Riddle appears severely OOC in this chapter. The next time I introduce him (in the very near future) he will hopefully be IC.**

**Lap: Harry knew it was the Chamber because he read about it, and he didn't understand Ginny when she spoke Parseltongue because (and I had to actually consult CoS for this) in the actual books when Harry goes down into the Chamber, when he says open in parsel to open up thesink, it says that the open came out as a low hiss. I'm interpreting it as meaning that though you have to use parselmouth to open the sinks up, what you say doesn't necessarily sound like parseltongue. And yes, I have decided whether or not this story will include some slash, I'm just not revealing it yet.**

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: You will find out eventually.**

**Crystal Moon Dragon: The pairing has yet to be decided. As for Harry/Tom slash, that's the best.**

**crazy-lil-nae-nae: Thanks!**

**Shadowface: Ew! I did not want to know that milkmen used to pick up urine! But if it's for making explosives... I think I'll try and find the recipe.**

**Homocidal Virgin: Like I told Lap, in the actual books when Harry opens up the sinks to go down to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron and Lockhart, it says what he said came out as a low hiss. I'm interpreting as meaning that you have to speak parseltongue to get down there, you can't understand what is being said by anyone when they open up the sinks.**

**hm: Harry isn't becoming more and more Gryffindor every chapter. You are just looking at his actions, and actions can be widely interpreted by different people. To one person what may seem like stupidity may seem like genius to another, what may seem like Gryffindor actions to one person mightn't to someo****ne else. Also, Harry does have some Gryffindor traits, as does everyone. Everyone has various traits, they are what make you up, it's just how strong they are in you that determines which house you would be sorted into. As to whatyou've said about how I've written things, that's my writing style. I'll try and go into more detail about what happens, but it's hard to do. If you're a writer then ou'd understand that.**

**Serpent of Light: Sure you can borrow it! I think I borrowed it off someone else, but I can't remember who... So far I have very few plans for the basilisk, but I'll try and keep it alive. Thanks!**

**Shannon: Ah, when I introduce Sirius, I'm going to have lots and los of fun.**

**No longer a member: I'll try.**


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